


Two Birds, One Stone

by WonderAss



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Action, Adventure, Canon Related, Character Study, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, God This Ship Needs More Love, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, POV Multiple, Plot, Post-Canon, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Ship, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 97,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7373281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAss/pseuds/WonderAss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A con woman's last great lie on her way to an honest life. A mob boss' desperate bid for a future he could call his own. Love was never part of the equation.</p>
<p>
  <span class="small">This fic is collage of original plot threads and canon moments, culminating in an intentional out-of-order and episodic exploration of this pair's tumultuous (and incredibly ambiguous) relationship.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buzzed

"You, uh, in a bad mood or something?"

It was an agonizingly slow evening at the Purple Skag. Their usual clientele were nowhere to be found all the way from the dusty morning to the blisteringly hot afternoon - even the radio seemed sleepier than usual, barely sputtering Sad Son's 'Pandoran Blues' over and over again in-between patches of static fuzz. Thanks to the recent bandit raids led by Bossanova, their customer base had been worn down to a weary trickle and Sasha was left to fill in the gaps as best she could with redundant labor. The dangerous outer roads and recently emptied pockets of the locals didn't give the team much to work with the entire week, even as they slashed their prices and started putting posters up again. Even the bouncer was helping out, offering to hold a sign by the road and do 'funny dances' to attract customers. They couldn't get more desperate.

With already little to do in-between bouts of sweeping, dusting and organizing, her mind wandered. It was damning enough she had to deal with the (thankfully bloodless) aftermath of pillaging - she also had time to muse over the tongue-lashing she had received that morning. No matter how loud she turned up the radio, Felix's words buzzed in her head like the flies that cluttered the bar: _"Your sister always was a natural at these things. You need to step it up, Sasha. She can't haul our weight forever. I'm getting old and you're, well...getting older."_ Unlike those bloated little bastards, she couldn't just swat these thoughts and be done with it. She'd even taken to naming one of them during slower moments, an aggressively nasty green fly she had spitefully dubbed 'Handsome Jack'. Every time she swung at the little savage it'd always buzz out of range.

"I'm fine."

August's gaze went steely as he watched her hand blur across the countertop. The squeaking was enough to wake the lone patron (a rather gross regular by the name of José), who promptly went back to sleep after drunkenly criticizing the interior decorating. _'I don't think he'd appreciate a hole in his front counter'_ , she thought, avoiding his eyes and turning to wipe down the cups. They were sparkling. A glance at the smooth floor and another at the painfully smooth counter bat her gaze around like a kraggon with prey. She wasn't even fooling herself.

" _Shit._ " She muttered, searching desperately for something, _anything_ , to distract her from the sick fury petulantly bubbling in her stomach. Grabbing the nearest newspaper she began slapping at the flies getting too comfortable around the counter, startling José when she brought it down right in front of his snoozing head. August continued to stare at her, his arms crossed as he so often did when he wasn't buying someone's story.

"I said I'm fine, August. Just tired of these flies."

"Yeah. Okay."

Sasha bit her lip. She really had to stop beating around the bush with him - even a white lie was better than a blatant one. Well...easier to fool him with, at any rate. The clinking of bottles behind her still couldn't draw her gaze from Handsome Jack's perch on top of the patron's head. Would it be worth smacking the man who tipped her earlier?

" _Bzzttthh_." Handsome Jack taunted her, wiping its face with two ugly, hairy arms.

The bandit's low voice mixed with the chime of glass. "You were a little off today, Sash. You clean great, of course. Place has looked better since you got here. I can't smile for both of us, though, if you get what I'm saying." Sasha took the cue and looked at him. He was smiling, but it was a touch different than the ones he had for customers. Intuition had always been one of Sasha's strong suits, a major reason why she was standing behind the endlessly grubby counter instead of Fiona. Rather than the smooth veneer he put on for those with full wallets and decent constitutions, only one corner of his mouth would quirk for her, when nobody was looking and she caught him in a more agreeable mood. It was cute.

"I was going to use these for target practice...you game?" She stole another glance his way - August had finished collecting the usual end-of-the-day bag of garbage and forgotten items (the latter of which was surprisingly common considering the scavenging population of Hollow Point...she imagined alcohol had something to do with it).

"I mean, we're almost done here, August...I might just head back home and get some repairing done." She responded, reading yet not reading the cover of the newspaper in her hand. _"Looking 4 Some Cheap Implants? Call 1-800-Hello-Nurse Today And Ask For Jane!"_ August's quirked eyebrow confirmed that she wasn't hiding the regret in her tone. Felix's pithy remark had put a serious dent in her glamour. She turned just in time to see his shrugging shoulders disappearing into the rapidly darkening evening. Sasha put away her rag, locked the counter and shooed José as politely as she could out the door. A few thunks and sharp curses _almost_ made her regret dimming the lights before telling him, but there was something to be said about the persuasion of a now quiet and dark building for getting customers to leave. Last one had to be tossed out by the bodyguard, chipping a tooth on the staircase and assuring them they'd be sorry (he returned the next day asking for two shots and a blunt). Tector may be a moron, but there was no reason to give him more work than he needed.

Grabbing her pack and double-checking the locks and trip wires (thankfully old and rarely used), she stepped from the pitch black of the bar into the lazy yellows and purples of outside. She waved farewell to Tector, lecturing José on something or another, and walked through the back alleys behind the bar to one of the rare cave openings in Hollow Point. August was lining up excess bottles and cans on the garbage heap that wrapped around the walls like a smelly fort. The air was quiet, only intermittently disturbed by the rustling of paper leaves and the whistle of the wind as it wound about the cheap tin roofs of the town. He hefted a pistol, inspecting it casually with a turn here and a poke there.

"August, I don't..." Her mood was so sour that even the prospect of showing off wasn't doing much. A new low.

"...don't think you can beat me?" He responded lightly.

Sasha frowned.

He coughed (which Sasha had learned to interpret as a chuckle) and aimed at one of the bottles. "I mean, if that means I get to continue as the reigning champion of sharpshooting around these parts..."

His bragging cut off when the bottle shattered in a splash of green. Sasha blew the smoke from her pistol, offering a terse smile in spite of herself. "I _know_ what you're doing, August. Don't think I'm fooled."

He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "The gun's in your hand, though." A can went flying into the encroaching orange of the sunset, having been perched on a rather precarious little stack of discarded boxes.

Sasha scoffed and set down her pack. "Lucky shot."

The man's yellow brows shot up in false offense. " _Lucky?_ This is a quality Swatter. Got it off one of the Bulwark fans. Pretty cheap, too." Sasha settled into a better position and aimed her sights on one of the tall brown bottles - she never cared much for the rancid swill Savage Orchard tried to pass off as beer.

"Like, five-finger discount cheap?" She asked. "Or cheap-cheap?"

August's tone was appropriately dry. "Please. I keep my deals on the clean."

There were a few bottles tied on strings, dangling from the taller towers of junk in the trash jungle. The regular winds of Pandora caused them to swing and clink into one another like moody windchimes, particularly when night crept in and transformed the already hostile land into a chilly, windblown hellscape. They were a pain in the ass to hit and a casual observation to the fine coat of dust that settled onto their once shining forms were a testament to Pandora's almost spiritual disdain for any and all things, inanimate or otherwise. She aimed her sights on one.

August scoffed lightly. "Woah, there. Don't go causing anything to crash. I mean, I _try_ to pay you enough..."

_Blam._ The string flapped happily in the breeze, as if thrilled to be free of the excess weight.

"Come again?"

A smile played on his features. He aimed at one of the cans, the force of his shot taking it clean off its perch and sending it clanking into the dust blowing in the distance. The thrill of the shot was starting to warm Sasha's bones again, better than any can of beer. Of course, that didn't mean she turned down August's offer of a still-cold Shady Lager. Taking a swig and wincing appreciatively, she trained her gun on the next bottle waving uncertainly between two crooked metal beams. They might have created a mattress or a chair at some point, now warped and bent from old age and the Pandoran sun. The bottle burst in a splash of purple. August covered his face momentarily, the wind blowing some of the shards his way.

He set his sights on a large wine bottle. Sasha suddenly nudged him with her foot, throwing off his aim and sending his bullet into a blob of indiscernible gunk, the sign of its landing the sudden scurry of what could only be junk rats. He smacked her shoulder. "You fucking cheater."

She was laughing now, the alcohol loosening up the crook that had settled into her back like a curse all day. "Come on, you're a pro! A pro isn't distracted that easily."

August nodded slowly. "So _this_ is what I get for giving you free beer."

Sasha leaned on their makeshift table and aimed at another. "That's right. No take-backsies." She popped it off its perch, taking a proud swig as her reward and aiming at the next. Her shot went firing off into the desert when August pinched her butt.

" _Hey!_ "

Now he was laughing, holding up his hands in a show of innocence. She snatched his beer before he could get another drink and took a sip. Sasha stuck her tongue out - Savage Orchard Lite.

"So...what's bothering you?" He asked once he had taken it back. The young woman sighed. She was _just_ starting to get a good buzz.

"Really?" She said, in the best mopey tone she could muster. "You're not even going to compliment my incredible aiming skills?"

He finished the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I just complimented your ass. Didn't you tell me talking was good therapy?" Of all the things to forget about her mark, it was his frustratingly precise memory. It had been an idle comment a few days ago when he came to work in a particularly foul mood - she offered to be a pair of ears for his ire, not expecting to sit through a nearly hour-long rant on his behalf. She figured this was only a natural way of returning the favor. The con woman moved forward a few feet, blinking at the glare that suddenly shadowed the trash towers as she aimed.

"Well, I _could_ talk about someone I know making it a point to make me feel like the weak link of the team." _Blam._ Missed. "I could go into great detail about how shitty it makes me feel after weeks of helping them with a deal, doing everything in my power to make it easier on everyone." _Blam._ Missed again. Why was her vision blurring? "I fixed the damn radiator. Nobody was even touching the thing." _Blam._ The bottle swayed tauntingly in the breeze. "But that's it. Really. Nothing...nothing new." She blinked away the sudden tears and busied herself with checking her pistol's handle - she wasn't the type to cry at work, even if she was (technically) off-shift.

He leaned down to pick shells off the ground, though his brows were knitted in concern when he stood back up again and looked her way. "Feel better?"

She swallowed thickly. "No."

He offered her the rest of her beer. "C'mon. Not even a little?"

Sasha looked at the half-empty bottle. It wasn't for another hour or so that Felix would return to the caravan, Fiona likely having been there a while after her pick-ups and drops. Sasha realized with a start she had forgotten to contact her for the week's grocery list. Shit. It had been a slow day, too! She felt the familiar pang of ire in the pit of her stomach and pushed it back - her mood was fickle enough as it is and she wasn't about to get bent out of shape over groceries. Sasha picked her drink up, turning to see August holding up his can in a half-toast.

"If I've gotten any impression about you, Sash, it's that you're way too hard on yourself." He said, a touch mildly.

_'Felix is too hard on me. This entire job is.'_ She couldn't get into the nitty gritty details, of course, and she knew better than to turn down one of his rare compliments. Sasha clinked her glass against his and took a swig, though it ended up going up her nose when she saw August giving her a mischievous glance from around his beer. He continued to down it as she did, only setting it down when she couldn't take any more. Coughing and sputtering, she wiped her face and gestured with her almost empty bottle.

"Oh, now it's a drinking contest? You're a glutton for punishment."

He crossed his arms. "That's assuming you won the sharpshooting contest. As it stands, we're tied."

Sasha rummaged around in the small box he had brought. They had a few bottles left. "Let me guess. The alcohol is supposed to help?"

The man chuckled. "There's no downside to being drunk, Sasha. I'm a _bartender."_

She popped open another lager and took a deep drink. "Two birds with one stone, then." They spent every bullet (and every bottle) they could into the evening, pragmatism fighting and losing with the desire to forget the day's troubles. The drinking contest was called off when she nearly fell over trying to shoot off the uppermost bottle, instead hitting a rakk flying around the cave opening and sending it circling into the windshield of a parked car. They hid behind the garbage as the owner shouted violent obscenities, laughing until tears stung their eyes. She let herself enjoy how close August stood to her, the heat of his breath stark against the night's creeping chill.

\--

A blue moon peered shyly out of the grays and blues that settled over the shanty town. They went from stumbling drunk to comfortably buzzed, a smattering of bottles keeping them company as they lay on the roof of the bar. They would occasionally retreat here when they had free time, just far up enough to circumvent the smell of a place, at best, drenched in roadkill and cigarette butts. Still a little too drunk to go home, they stretched their sore muscles and attempted small talk, eventually lapsing into a dull yet pleasant silence. The village was a few lit lanterns shy of a ghost town, hardly a soul out on the open streets even as the stars winked seductively through the cave gaps. August's cigarette flickered in a defiant orange, the smoke wafting up to disappear among the hints of cloud dusting the galaxy above. She could just barely make out his features in the glow.

It was a while before the silence was broken. "I got a deal today."

Sasha's ears perked up. It wasn't often the man deigned to share the inner workings of his bar with her. He always seemed to be in a constant war with his secretive nature and insistence on a peculiar code of ethics - honest, but not too honest. She understood, in her own way; thieving and lying was distinctively less bloody than helming a notorious gang, but it wasn't a big leap to make. Wrestling with cognitive dissonance was an inescapable part of life on Pandora.

"Better than the half-off Lager special?" She asked, alcohol's buzz dulling her normal good sense. He didn't answer and she sat up to get a better look at him, stomach sinking at his expression. He was frowning. The cigarette seemed to wink in response, briefly revealing those hard eyes she had learned to gauge like a weather pattern. Sasha kept her tone light, looking up to the cave ceiling again to offer him the floor. "I'm listening."

August took a slow drag, sighing it out and giving the air a pregnant pause. It was easy to forget he was her boss sometimes. The man could go from affable to sour in a heartbeat, no doubt a leftover from a life that required he cut deals and crack heads in equal measure. She was grateful the darkness hid the visible bob in her throat - the path of a con was a windy one. While watching her step was second-nature, it was still jarring when she found herself tripping over her own feet. Musing on this almost made her miss what he said next.

"...don't always like the people he deals with, but half a ton of fuel and a few weapons for good faith isn't bad. After that skirmish we need all the supplies we can get. Any other gangs catch wind of our open wound and they'll swoop in like vultures."

Sasha sat up abruptly as a flock of bats flooded through the gaps in the cave roof. Her knee knocked one of the bottles, sending it rolling down the roof to clatter onto the ground some feet below. A cat (or person) screamed in defiance. August's expression was a mix of irritation and smugness, no doubt warring with her distraction and reaction both. "Half a ton?" She gasped, careful not to hide the wonder in her tone.

"Damn. From who?"

August slapped at a bat that flew too close. "Friend of Marcus'. ...Sort of."

She lay a little closer to him, propping herself on one arm. "Bet your boss will have a few things to say about that."

Sasha felt him shrug. "She doesn't need to know." She raised her brows.

"You're leaving her out of this?"

August flicked his cigarette over the railing. "Can't leave her out of something that doesn't involve her." It was a loophole, to be sure, but not a particularly good one. August wasn't a dumb man - even his sudden bouts of paranoia were understandable - but there was a stubborn and (seemingly one-sided) rivalry between him and his boss, that much had become clear. How frequently she wanted to get involved with the woman was drawn weeks back when Felix and Fiona were comparing charts: _'Not much'_.

So she kept her thoughts on the matter to herself, even as her stomach knotted intuitively. Sasha idly flicked a few ashes off his vest. She could feel his gaze on her, though the cigarette was almost out and the muted blue darkness wrapped around them like a blanket. "How will you manage to pull it off? With a load that big, you could get spotted easily on the way back. Didn't you say you lost a few people, too?" She hoped she didn't sound too vague after her brief zoning out. Apparently not, as August leaned into the moonlight and smiled at her, that little quirk he only turned her way.

"Yeah...I was hoping you could help me with that." He said. "I could use someone to cover the bar for me while I'm out. You're dependable. This week is... _really_ going to need that."

The young woman looked sadly at the empty bottles of beer. Whether everything was starting to feel too steady or not steady enough, she couldn't really tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the beginning of a long-ish series of out-of-order recollections and mini-plots gradually revealing the ongoing relationship between Sasha and August. This complex and subtle ship took me by the throat when I got into Tales From The Borderlands a few months back and I've been meaning to vent it out in a fanfiction ever since. 
> 
> Comments and critiques are always welcome.


	2. Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Fiona and Sasha cultivate the deal that could change their lives forever.

The night was an agreeable one, as much as a smelly series of cobbled together huts and mounds in a massive cave ever could be. The weather had finally started to veer toward cloudy, giving the outer sandlands a much-needed reprieve and replacing the muggy humidity of Hollow Point with a cooler and drier air. Even the moths were out, fluttering around the endless rows of streetlamps that transformed the dark cave into something resembling iconic. He let one land on his finger, enjoying its soft tickle before setting it on a nearby post. A pair of masked children blinked into view across the street, howling churlishly into the night and waving what looked like fender benders. Felix kept his gaze level and his walk steady as he neared the alleyways -- even the merest sign of weakness was like blood in the water, attracting proverbial sharks of the human (and not-so-human) variety.

Hollow Point had been a last-ditch effort in his life. Felix always preferred the open road to people, the breeze on his face as steady a lover as he'd ever known as he moved on to his next successful con and, subsequently, his next few weeks of a comfortable and isolated lifestyle. He would seek out rare vendors and their wares, favoring the old books and records some carried with them as novelty in a land where guns and food took priority. It wasn't possible to take everything with him in the caravan, of course, so he would re-sell certain items at a higher price in new towns and only keep the ones he couldn't bear to part with. Hollow Point had been one of many unpleasant stops on his endless journey around Pandora's miserable sphere, after a narrow chase with two marks keen on separating his head from his neck.

He never thought change would come in the form of two little girls with grubby cheeks and hardly a penny to rub between them. Felix tucked his camera under his arm as he passed a pair of bandits lounging on the street corner. They tried to flag him down, voices slurred with alcohol, and he offered them a polite smile and a nod. A few more corners and a surreptitious duck into an abandoned alleyway, the old man breathed a sigh of relief as he arrived home. The caravan's lights were on, shadows flickering against the curtains.

Felix opened the door to the familiar smell of gun oil and incense. Even with Fiona wearing a multilayered coat and looking like she walked off one of those fashion runways (that apparently happened with great frequency on other planets) and Sasha talking about her latest find, it was hard not to still see them as those fitful, snaggletoothed kids he plucked off the streets nearly fifteen years ago.

The man never turned down a good opportunity when he saw it, even if he was convinced it was the last thing he wanted.

"Girls...you will not _believe_ what I found out."

Felix's daughters jumped in unison as he slapped down a wad of papers on their table. "Hey, you nearly got my eggs!" Sasha protested, snatching her bowl for good measure. She was as voracious as a vulture when it came to poultry, often deviating from their outside routes entirely just to pick at the nearest birds' nests.

Felix rolled his eye and tapped a finger on the photos in front of them. "You'll be able to buy ten thousand eggs once we're done with _this_." He said while hiding a smile, his daughters perking up as they so often did when a good deal entered their lives.

"So, what do we have here..." Fiona murmured as she began to rifle through the papers, ignoring Felix's husky sigh. "You can tell me _while_ I look, you know." She teased, nudging her sister to get her attention.

"Did you take these with that potato you call a camera?" Sasha quipped, crinkling her nose at the sepia blurs before her. Felix ignored her comment, observing over their shoulder as they put the pieces together. One photo was of a district in Hollow Point, as unremarkable and filthy as the next. Another showed a man with spiked hair in front of what appeared to be a bar, frozen forever in some debate with a large beast of a man. Yet another was of a pair of vehicles coated in bright, well-maintained paint. Felix folded his arms behind his back and began to pace the caravan. Sasha set her now empty bowl on the side of her seat and kicked her feet up. "This should be good," she murmured to to her sister.

"From the marks on the vehicles here..." He began, gesturing to one of the photos. "...The gang's hideout seems to be connected to the Purple Skag, that bar you see in the photos there. There are multiple kingpins in this area. This one seems to have been on top for quite a few years now, if their consistent activity is any indication, though they are not without their share of competitors. I've even heard rumors this one, in particular, has a few contacts up on Hyperion."

Sasha and Fiona traded a grin. _'Rich sons of bitches'_ , they no doubt thought.

Felix continued. "Of course, it wouldn't be so easy as to walk to their front door and ask them to share their client list with us...which is why I took the liberty of getting to know the area a bit first. I've been frequenting the Purple Skag for over a month now, to better get to know a few of the bandits that work there. It seems one of them has connections with a major kingpin. Fellow by the name of Tommy was more than obliged to fill me in...provided I bought him a few drinks."

Sasha was looking down at the photos again, committing any and all details she could to memory. "Their cars are really sleek..." She noted. "That alone shows extra money, or at least, extra time to commit to such a useless task." Felix nodded his approval.

"Is that why you always tell me to wash the caravan?" Fiona added, avoiding a playful slap on Sasha's end.

A polite cough brought their attention back. "So, what's the actual plan here? You know I can't stand build-up." Fiona said, laying her hat over her eyes and leaning back in her chair. Felix gave her a withering look, though he may as well have done nothing for all it affected his eldest daughter.

"You want us to rob one of the biggest gangs in the city? I mean, it's not like we live the safest lifestyle, but..." Sasha started, stopping when her father held up a hand for silence.

"The _plan_ is to create a fake Vault Key and sell it to the highest bidder." He said after a pause. Fiona sat upright, her hat flying off. Sasha's jaw dropped. Felix smiled.

The sisters looked at each other. "Wh-What? That'd be worth millions of dollars." Fiona gasped.

"You think we could actually get away with selling a fake?" Sasha added, eyes glinting eagerly. Felix pointed at her and her sister.

" _You two_ could get away with selling a fake. I didn't train you all these years to have you get cold feet, now." The old man allowed himself an egotistical boast. "I'm a master crafter. They'll never know the difference. At least, not when it counts. By then we'll be long gone." A long night of drafting and discussing was in the works, so he turned on one heel and stepped into the kitchen to start dinner. They both shuffled through the photos over and over like playing cards, eventually dissolving into a lively chatter where possibilities were brought up, struck down and brought up again. Fiona was keen to discuss all the personas she could take on -- words were her specialty, even moreso than the average con, her cavalier sense of humor carrying her where brute strength could not.

All the while, Sasha's mind clung to a new and possible future like static. Their marks were always small, created with a few days' to a few weeks' travel and sustenance in mind. Millions of dollars, though...this was something else. She could barely contain her glee.

The young woman raised her hand. "How do I fit into the plan? _Please_ tell me it's not seducing another mark." It was hard for her not to get caught up in the moment. The air was crackling with possibility and she couldn't help but hold the photos in her hands, as if they would grant her with some mystical power. She had become so used to life in the caravan, hopping from place to place picking up odd jobs like scavengers picked at carcasses (which, of course, they would also do when the opportunity rose). 'Sleeping' on the roof in more dangerous parts of town to keep watch. Strolling through neighborhoods with Fiona looking for gullible people to pickpocket, wheedle or manipulate.

She loved to entertain conjecture with her sister about leaving Pandora and starting anew on another planet, where nobody knew their faces and her persona began and end with herself. That love was tested, though, time and time again against hunger, time and survival. When strolling through Hollow Point or driving in the outlands, they kept the dream alive during quiet moments. A comment about their future house here. A quip about buying a luxury spa filled with wine there. Anything to keep the flame from dying out. Anything.

It wasn't until this night that she actually felt the dream could be a reality. It was terrifying and wonderful all at once.

Felix rubbed his chin hesitantly as he dug through the cupboards. He would have to approach his daughter's vigor carefully. He never wanted to stamp it out, but lying was his _business_ , not a vice.

"It's...seducing another mark, yes." His sharp ears caught her moody sigh, as much as she tried to disguise it as a particularly nasty cough. "It _will_ be the last one you'll have to do if this goes exactly as planned." He stressed. "We need to take advantage of the kingpin's contacts while keeping them firmly out of the picture. Less angry murderers to chase us if things go astray, after all. The second-in-command seems to be this man here." He gestured at the photo of two men talking. "...and he's not exactly the trusting type. I've never seen someone get so standoffish discussing the weather."

Sasha walked into the kitchen and started the stove, trying to keep the disappointed hunch out of her shoulders. "Who is on Pandora, really? If I could sway good ol' Knickerblockers last year, I can sway a garden-variety bandit." Felix raised his eyebrows at her. "...An _important_ garden-variety bandit," she corrected.

With a gentle sigh Felix pulled out a box from under the table and dug around for a bottle opener. Like usual, their spreads were of a modest sort -- hardboiled eggs and a few slices of (thankfully) fresh rakk meat on toast with a side of beer. The other day his youngest daughter told him how she managed to wheedle a local dealer into slashing their prices, convincing them of the 'long-term momentum of affordable financial expansion for small businesses'. She told him how Fiona had nearly ruined the mini-con by laughing, barely covering up her giggles as a series of sneezes into her shoulder.

Felix sat with them at the table, not eating until his daughters settled into place. "I want you to work at his bar." He said, turning a serious eye Sasha's way. "Learn every little thing you can about its inner workings. Get names, get figures. I don't know how he swings, so if you can get him interested in you I want you to do that, too. The more you can learn about the bandit group, their leader, their contacts, the better. Every extra piece of the puzzle..."

"...completes the picture. We got you." Fiona finished for him. He paused for a moment, warring with pride and worry. The trust he had for his two daughters ran deeper than anything he knew, but like any good thing a troubling downside was nearby. If they failed, the best thing that would happen is being forced to move and set up shop in another town. At worst, they would be lucky to dig their own graves before being executed in the middle of one of Pandora's many lovely deserts. He reached over and put a hand on his youngest daughter's shoulder. "...And if anything goes wrong, you let me know." He said, a soft note entering his voice. "I'm asking for your expertise because I _trust_ you, not because this will be easy. He's part of a gang and, as such, is dangerous at the best of times."

Sasha nodded idly, chewing on her sandwich and gazing at the photos.

Felix tried not to become impatient with her, knowing all too well the mental and emotional toll her particular line of work took on her. It was the double-edged sword of getting old -- his wisdom always clashed with his daughters' impulsive attitudes like oil and water.

"I _mean_ it, Sasha. I know acting as a metaphorical honey trap has been...difficult." His daughter smiled as best she could with a full mouth. It wasn't very convincing and it was clear she saw the sentiment in his eyes. Swallowing before speaking, she gave him a casual shrug.

"You can count on me, Felix. How long do you think this will take, anyway?"

Felix put a hand on her shoulder.

"As long as it takes for him to trust you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a slut for build-up. 
> 
> Comments and critiques always appreciated.


	3. Drawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old enemy returns to the Purple Skag, only to be one of the lesser troubles August and Sasha have to deal with.

"I'm gonna fuckin' _kill_ you, August! And your lil' barmaid, too!"

He'd jumped through the window, sending the pane scattering like rain all over the bar. Sasha thanked whatever deity she made up at the time for her reflexes, because if her mouth had been agape any longer she would've swallowed a lifetime's worth of glass. Patrons leapt from their tables, some drunkenly groping for their balance and others attempting to escape or add to the red laser sights that suddenly criss-crossed all over the bar. August's blue eyes were as wide as plates when he looked at her.

"Sasha! _Grab your gun!_ "

_\- earlier that day -_

"Sash, you mind covering the bar? I need to grab something."

Sasha waved at August from a checkers game she was playing with a regular. "Sure thing."

He'd taken to calling her 'Sash', recently, and she couldn't help but feel a warm blossom in her chest every time. She imagined it was her subconscious congratulating her for clearing a major hurdle on what she had dubbed the 'Augustacle Course' -- the occasionally fruitful and _frequently_ tricky navigation of the mob boss' suspicious mind. Sasha recalled how her first week had been the most difficult, as her job was wont to be, filled with the double-checking and shoulder-checking and checking-checking on the persona she built for herself. This time was becoming unique, though, in that she was hiding less and less as the weeks went on.

He liked to ask questions, quick to pick up on a contradiction and lay it bare like a piece of evidence in an interrogation, even something as mundane as where she had been the prior day or a gap in information concerning her family. It was less difficult than she'd like to admit smiling his way and answering honestly -- indeed, her barefaced attitude seemed to set him at ease more than she'd expect from a man who could make a room go cold with a single stare. Then again, Fiona did always say she had a great smile.

During their increasingly rare alone time she and her sister would chuckle over her stories of working part-time at the bar. She'd come up with a slew of nicknames for the man, like 'Autumn' or 'summer boy', terms that would always made his expression twitch in a not-quite-smile smile. Teasing August was like tossing rocks into a sleeping skag's mouth -- potentially dangerous, potentially _really_ funny. She had asked him about the name of his bar one day, in an attempt to cultivate conversation and avoid becoming yet another part of the background. He'd narrowed his eyes at her, leading Sasha to believe she'd crossed one of his many lines. That is, until he answered a moment later,

"...Nobody's ever asked me that before."

He had rubbed his chin, as if debating the risk of revealing the secret of his bar name. Sasha took the opportunity to turn on the flattery.

"Well, purple is a regal color, right? A respectful color?" He had paused in his ministrations and looked at her. "I mean, Hollow Point is pretty close to Hallowed Point, like a venerable sort of name. Not like the place would do much to _earn_ it, but that's beside the point. Your name is another word for...you know, exalted or respected or memorable, so it comes full circle, right?" August's eyebrows slowly rose. "Hollow...Hallowed...August...," she trailed off slowly as he stared.

"Actually..." He said, voice catching on a chuckle. "...that was just my brawler name when I was a teen."

There was an awkward pause. She had suddenly burst into a fit of laughter, August eyeing her curiously and smiling in a fashion she'd never seen before.

"...Good effort, though. I would have never put it together like that," he had said, turning to continue penciling notes in a small book he always kept on his person.

"Brawler name, huh?" She asked, picking up a broom and sweeping the dirt out from under the bar stools. "Let me guess. You fight with the ferocity of a skag or something? Had to _fight_ skags, maybe?"

August hadn't turned from his notes. "The former. They'd leave the ring black and blue more often than not...which is why the 'purple' got added."

Sasha whistled. "Niiice." The con woman had noticed early on he often kept a pair of fingerless leather gloves on, never taking them off even when making drinks or going out. She wondered how many scars covered those knuckles.

They had spent the rest of the day trading quips, in-between her sweeping and his filing, as he attempted to outdo her rather extravagant conclusion jumping with a few of his own ("Let me guess...your name is Sasha because you sashay when you walk?"). He had gotten in a particularly good dig right as a customer walked in, startling Sasha into dropping her broom; the pair had paused in unison attempting to pick it up, catching each other's gaze in a way that made Sasha feel like a kid again. Whether it was the thrill of the unknown or the curious results she found after peeling away this man's layers, she couldn't say. What she could, though, was that she hadn't enjoyed flirting like this in a _long_ time.

His voice cut into her thoughts. "Hey, Sash. Come back here, there's something I want to show you."

August beckoned her into the little hole in the wall behind the bar. Sasha stepped in cautiously, barely avoiding a low-hanging lamp snagging on her hair. It was a cramped and dusty little closet and filled with countless boxes, making her think she was being asked to do another round of cleaning. "I was thinking we could start an actual menu here," August began, pulling up a box and tapping it lightly. "It'd be more work, but we'd also bring in more customers. Ever since Firestone Tavern got shut down I've been hearing more talk about livening the place up a bit. Skag bacon, maybe? Or a burger?" He opened it, revealing a few pounds of frozen skag meat. While plentiful, it was notoriously gamey and took a steady hand to cook properly. Heat it too high and it turned into a hellish imitation of old jerky. Heat it too low and it'd barely be enough to satisfy carrion.

Sasha attempted to keep her tone gentle. "A...burger? I don't know if you can make a tasty meal out of a stringy mess like _that_." So much for holding back. Thankfully, it was one of August's more thick-skinned days.

He shrugged. "They'll be too drunk to care."

They stared at the meat together.

"...So, _how_ drunk are we talking about?" Sasha asked after a few moments.

August groaned and rubbed his forehead. "All right, it sounds like you got a bright idea. Let's hear it. I spent this week's extra funds on this, so I'd _rather_ it not go to waste."

Sasha rubbed her chin deviously. She was a fairly decent cook (and quite glad Fiona wasn't around to contest that) and the glow of possibilities were slowly illuminating in her mind. "Why not...some simple breakfast food? It would be a way to fill in some time during the day when it's slow and balance out the activity at night."

August quirked a brow. "You think? I mean, we're a bar, not a wafflehouse."

Sasha put her hands on her hips. "You're not a burger joint, either." She responded. The man chuckled, shaking his head.

"Okay, you got me. Let's try it, then. I mean, provided you're fine being a barmaid _and_ a cook." It wasn't a bad idea -- indeed, Felix's biggest request was to make him trust her by any means necessary. What better way than to saddle her with a plethora of necessary responsibilities? What better way, indeed...

"I suppose I'll have to figure out another form of compensation." He continued, scratching the back of his head as he mused. "We'll trade off, of course...probably won't serve food every day 'til we're settled."

Sasha twirled a finger around one of her locs, tilting her chin up. "I can think of a few things."

August's brow crinkled, picking up on her coy tone. "Yeah? And what's that?"

The young woman strolled around the table to where he stood, her hand sliding along the cold surface. August's eyes followed her, narrowing nearly to slits at this gradual invasion of space. He didn't move, however, even as she placed her hands on either side of him, leaning in as close as she could without contact. Even in the dim light she saw his throat bob.

"...Sasha?" His voice was low, even a little hoarse, to her ears.

"...Do you have any spare guns I could have?" Sasha asked brightly.

August paused.

"... _Really_? That was what you were leading up to?" He asked incredulously.

Sasha blinked. "Why? What were you expecting?" ' _Don't poke the skag **too** hard now, Sasha_ '.

August crossed his arms. "Nobody asks for guns like... _that_." He gestured vaguely. Sasha scoffed and imitated him with a wave of her hand. She still hadn't moved from where she stood.

"You calling me a nobody, summer boy?" August rolled his eyes and looked away.

"More like I'm saying you're _fucking_ with me."

This benign grumpiness was a side the young woman often wanted to see, even as she knew it was a double-edged sword that could make him shut down faster than a rakk stuck in a telephone wire. It was the closest the man ever got to soft.

"Maybe just a little." She admitted. He looked at her again. This time his eyes were searching, reading her.

"A little? Like..."

An unearthly howl cut through the moment like a knife. Their heads jerked in unison at the direction of the noise. Sasha slowly walked a few steps backwards, peering out the door. "The...fuck was _that_?" She whispered. August reached under the table and pulled out a pistol, shutting the box and walking to the doorway in one fluid movement. Upon reflection Sasha realized she hadn't noticed the bar's ongoing silence, which seemed as loud as an explosion for their late awareness. Sasha felt the cold tingle of realization down the length of her spine, even moreso knowing her gun wasn't on her person.

Car lights flashed outside. Voices were hollering from what sounded like all sides of the bar. "...August? Is this a surprise birthday party and you're just not telling me?" She asked, trying and failing to sound casual. He cocked his gun, his expression terse. After a few moments of silence she hissed, "Look, would you _answer_ me already? You're starting to freak me out!" He held up a hand, whispering hurriedly.

"There's another gun under the bar. The code is seven-seven-eight-nine." The con woman slowly stood up from the crouch she didn't know she was doing, her voice hesitant as she stood in the doorway.

"I can grab my Magnum from upstairs..."

August's eyes widened at something over her shoulder. "We're not going to have time for th-"

An explosion of wood and glass flew across her vision. A man covered in the most elaborate and bizarre armor Sasha had ever seen had burst through the front of the bar like a wrecking ball. His dreadlocks were nearly brushing the floor and of a wild blue, so many tattoos covering his face and arms it was hard to narrow down where his skin began. With a massive spiked collar around his neck and spiked shoulder pads made of solid metal, he looked like a biker's radioactive paper mache project.

"I'm gonna fuckin' _kill_ you, August!" He howled triumphantly. "And your lil' barmaid, too!"

Sasha ducked under the counter, survivor's instinct immediately honing in on the small locked box by the register. She quickly grabbed it and began rotating in the code, August standing above her and shooting out the broken windows at the man's cronies attempting to crawl inside. "Hurry up!" He yelled, ducking momentarily. Something clattered beside his head.

"Who the _hell_ is tha-...ooh." Sasha started, only to coo as she pulled out a hand cannon, pleasantly heavy despite its small size. "This is nice!" She called, turning it this way and that in the light.

August's jaw was slack. "You're kidding me. You're kidding m-you're admiring guns _now_?! At least shoot it!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Sasha jumped up and fired directly at the big man, dropping to the floor when her bullet ricocheted off his shoulder pad and shattered one of the beer taps. " _Hey_! That's expensive!" August yelled, firing at a bandit attempting to rush him -- the shot barely grazed the man's shoulder before he was tackled with the ferocity of a linebacker. They collapsed next to Sasha, wrestling with the gun. August grabbed a glass cup off the ground and slammed it into the man's temple, the man yowling and attempting to stumble to his feet as glass flew into his eyes. He fell to the ground, again, when Sasha fired a shot into his neck.

"Fucking hell." August cursed, taking Sasha's offered hand. He grabbed his gun, cursing again when he checked its roster. At that they both realized there was no reason to stay -- they couldn't defend it when they were dead. After a deliberate pause she snaked out from under the counter, leapt over the red laser sights and clotheslined a bandit attempting to stop her. August was hot on her heels.

" _Get them_!" They heard the man yell as they dove through the now gaping hole in the side of the building. Tector was behind a truck, his massive form swinging and cracking heads. Even with his brute strength on their side, their chances looked slim without weapons and few numbers.

"Call for back-up!" August roared at him over the commotion.

"I got ya, boss!" Tector called, grabbing a bandit and using him as a battering ram to knock over his peers. They fell like dominoes.

The two ran into the night.

Bystanders had begun to mill around the bar, curious or opportunistic or both. "Sorry, I really was asking a genuine question before I got distracted!" Sasha called to August as they slipped between obstacles. " _Who_ is that, again? And what the hell is his problem?" August kicked a trash can behind them in an attempt to slow their pursuers.

"Tassle. He's a washed-up crime lord." He yelled over his shoulder. "Used to head a gang three-hundred strong back in the day, 'til he slipped up and nearly got them all killed trying to start shit with Hyperion." Sasha tried her best to keep pace -- while she was plenty fit, the man had legs for days.

"Yeah?" She panted, glancing over her shoulder as they rounded a corner. "And why's he mad at _you_?" As angry as August was, he didn't bother keeping a note of smug contempt out of his voice.

"His past caught up with him. Didn't like that I knew better than to waste my time."

The faint _wub-wub_ of a nearby concert began to mask their desperate footsteps. According to nearby posters, Shitfaced Proxy was playing to a full house in the venue just a few blocks from the Purple Skag -- the concert hall was considered an indirect partner to the bar's success, thanks primarily to the venue goers' tendency to get drunk after a few hours of partying. It was the closest Hollow Point got to an art district, attracting graffiti artists and guitarists and sexy dancers of all shapes and sizes. They slowed down to a jog as they got into view of the performance, panting heavily, its bright lights casting heavy shadows around them -- the bass was so deep Sasha felt like she had another heartbeat.

" _Gotcha_!"

Sasha gasped as a hand snaked out of the darkness, grabbing her neck and attempting to drag her forward. She brought her knee into the offender's stomach, whipping her torso upright in a follow-up headbutt. The bandit's teeth _clack_ ed satisfyingly and the force sent him stumbling backwards -- according to a distressed _thump_ , right into August. While Sasha didn't see the man's neck snap like a twig, she certainly heard it.

"Holy crap." She breathed, rubbing her throat. "Thanks."

August stepped out of the shadows, cracking his knuckles. "Don't mention it."

They moved out of the alleyway. Raocous yells haunted them mere yards away, tempting a spring into their step. Sasha felt the sting of a sudden idea. "Come on. Quick!" She prompted, making her way down the cobblestone stairs and toward the flashing lights. The Hollow Venue was only a building in name, with an open roof and a tall wooden fence creating an enclosure around its center stage. It was located under one of the rare ceiling holes in Hollow Point, allowing fans a glimpse of stars they would never appreciate for the drugs, alcohol and strobe lights. A quick look at the front door revealed a pair of distracted bouncers and a few topless fans -- their timing couldn't have been more perfect.

_What's a skirmish between friends?_

_What's a starline with no end_

They slipped in with a group of people carrying massive glowsticks, waving them to the beat as they moved through the front door and flashed their wrists. August looked disgusted. "Did they seriously not hear what went on?" He grumbled, pushing up his hood and shaking his head at a concert goer's offer of weed. A rush of warm, sweaty air hit their faces as they entered the hall -- hundreds of Hollow Point regulars and outsiders alike danced and gyrated and hollered in front of a sound stage glowing neon purple and pink. Sasha did her best to squeeze around two concert goers not-quite-dancing.

"Probably because it's _really_ loud!" She answered, though she may as well have been underwater for all her voice carried.

" _What_?" August yelled, shoving a man who attempted to pull him into a growing mosh pit. The fan disappeared into a mass of bodies, only to reappear moments later many feet away, tossed into the air like a ceremonial ragdoll.

August's eyes grew round as Sasha began to dance, moving her hands in her hair and swaying her hips. Even though she couldn't hear him, it was impossible not to read his lips. " _What are you doing?_ " He mouthed, temporarily forgetting about their predicament in his shock. Sasha stood on her toes to peer above the cluster of heads -- while the bandits were barely comprehensible between the flash of lights and shadowed arms, there was no mistaking the glint of their masks. She beckoned August to lean toward her, doing her best not to yell out his eardrum.

" _Blend in!_ "

He followed her gaze easily, being a good head taller than she was. After a moment he looked down at her, one eyebrow quirked so far it risked disappearing into the yellow tuft poking out from under his hood. Sasha laughed and tossed her hands up when the beat dropped, the bass thumping so hard she felt she could jump into the air and hover.

_My friend, my sin_

_Get good, get it in_

The crowd was beginning to get heated, swaying and bouncing like an aggressive ocean. Sasha rolled with the current, not even bothering to push when the cluster of bodies pressed her closer to August. She tossed her hair back and rolled her hips to the clash of drums. August began to move with her, leaning against his heels in a constant effort to avoid being swallowed entirely by the crowd. It was an uncertain, jerky movement, as if hesitant to get too drawn into the moment. It wasn't as if he didn't blend in physically -- spiky hair and piercings seemed to be Hollow Venue's equivalent of a 'Must Be This Tall To Enter'.

It wasn't until she met his eyes that his dancing changed. The lights took on a slower rotation, matching the moody and wavering tempo of the next song's segue with soothing blues and greens. Everyone responded in kind, their dancing shifting from wild to steamy in a matter of seconds. A concert goer elbowed them painfully, August wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her and delivering a few nasty threats in their direction. He didn't disengage, though, and moved his hands to her hips. ' _Smooth_ '. She thought, unable to keep a smile from curling her lips. It was difficult to make out his expression in the dark blue, but the way his thumb caressed her side told her everything she needed to know.

_Starline's all you gotta go_

_I know nothing, you don't flow_

For a few blissful moments she forgot about the bandits and the destruction of the bar. Even the music seemed less loud, dimming to a pleasant, pounding muffle as she snaked her arms around August's neck and felt the tickle of his goatee in the crook of her elbow. His grip shifted from tentative to wanting, sliding up her sides and answering her rhythm. The song dipped into a long, smooth solo, the answering lull in the crowd so startingly quiet it made her ears buzz. It almost made her miss August leaning down and pressing his nose against her neck, breathing in her scent with a rare, self-conscious chuckle. Almost.

"Am I blending in?" He breathed softly into her ear.

Sasha shivered pleasantly. "You're a natural, summer boy. You should dance to bad music more often."

When the music picked up, so too did the fans' voices, coalescing into an unintelligible chorus of howls and cheers. August said something she couldn't understand. The con woman leaned closer to hear him better, only to feel her skin ripple into goosebumps as he mouthed her jaw, breath somehow hotter than the proverbial furnace they were in. He nipped her ear, once, twice, then began to suck on her neck. Sasha's sigh turned into a surprised gasp turned into a groan as her hands slid instinctively down his back, feeling the muscles twitching beneath his shirt. The thin skin of her neck began to bruise under his teeth. Never had anything hurt so _good_.

The crowd's bumping and swaying was reduced to an afterthought as weeks of sexual tension vented like pent-up steam between them. Somehow they had navigated their way to a wall, where the stragglers and loners and drunks lingered. August had moved to her collarbone, alternating between lazy kisses and languid brushes of his tongue. Sasha took his hand, pushing it toward her legs -- he didn't need to be told twice, snaking two clever fingers in-between her thighs and rotating them in a deliciously hard circle. The ache that had been growing there reached a fever pitch and she was endlessly thankful the music drowned out the shameless noises she was making.

"Fuck pants. I don't want these on." She moaned breathily, gripping his shoulders as his other hand snuck up her shirt and pawed at her breast.

"I'd keep them on..." He said, sighing easily when she traced a finger along his hipbone, just shy of his crotch. "You don't want to get a disease." He paused in the middle of pulling up her top when a party goer tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, man..." They slurred, covered in what looked like bioluminescent paint. "Uh, you got a lil', uh, bit o' ash I could...?" They trailed off nervously at August's cold stare. Sasha laughed into his chest as they scurried off into the crowd; she could feel his back relax as she smiled up at him, one leg tangled in his.

Sasha's earpiece buzzed, its beeping muffled but vibration unmistakable. ' _Oh, of all the..._ ' She thought irritably, her hand instinctively reaching up to touch it. "Fuck, I have to..." She started, stopping when she remembered her voice didn't carry well. August had paused irregardless, her earpiece blinking against the pale blue of his eyes. " _Sorry_." She mouthed.

"Okay...okay." He breathed, slowly taking his hands out from under her shirt. Her skin screamed in protest and it took all her willpower not to tear off her earpiece and fling it into the crowd.

_My friend, my sin_

_Starline's all you gotta know_

The outside air was as refreshing as a splash of water to the face. The con woman stepped as far away as she could from the concert while staying within its boundaries, turning on her earpiece and putting a hand over the other ear. " _Sasha! Are you all right?!_ " She heard Fiona cry, shrill with worry.

" _What's going on? We heard gunshots. Where are you?_ " She caught Felix's muffled voice in the background. Sasha's heart sank in light of her previous irritation. They lived only a few blocks down from the Purple Skag -- they would have no doubt heard the commotion as easily as if it were next door.

"It's all right. I'm fine. There was a...complication at the bar." she responded. August snorted.

" _That was more than a mere complication. There's a giant hole in the side of the building!_ " Felix chided.

" _You're not hurt, are you?_ " Fiona asked, her voice only a little calmer.

' _Not the kind of hurt you're thinking_ ', Sasha thought idly, looking around her -- a few distracted individuals to the left, nobody in the open streets. Certainly not a bandit in sight. August leaned against the far wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning his surroundings. He avoided her gaze. Sasha ignored the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach and responded, "No, I'm fine. We're actually heading back now. It was just some drunken assholes starting shit. Got a little out of hand. You know how it is."

" _We_?" Felix asked.

"U-Uh, August and I." Sasha replied. Why the hell did her voice catch? August glanced at her.

" _Want me to meet you?_ " Fiona asked, ever the big sister. The con woman mulled it over -- they'd given the bandits the slip, no doubt, but there was no guarantee they weren't waiting somewhere nearby. While she was tempted to ask Fiona to check the bar for suspicious strangers, she didn't want to put her in danger. Especially when she didn't feel quite out of hot water herself.

"No, it's fine. You worry too much, Fi." She said, attempting best she could to put a smile in her voice.

" _...Okay._ " Her older sister didn't sound convinced. Sasha couldn't blame her.

"...We should head out." August said after Sasha had reassured Fiona a few more times and hung up. His shoulders were stiff, eyes flicking cautiously over her head every so often. The pair stuck their hands in their pockets as the bouncers returned to their shift with disheveled hair and started to make their way back to the Purple Skag. The further they walked from the concert hall, the more apparent it was most people were partying or at home. Crickets didn't chirp in Hollow Point, instead the stubborn _clink clink_ of moths' bodies against glass lamps signaling a quiet and distracted night.

"So...why didn't you leave?" August asked as they walked down the street, their careful footsteps still managing a rhythmic _click-clack_  on the cobblestones.

Sasha fiddled with her goggles. "Pretty sure I did." She said after a moment. "At top speed, even."

He sighed impatiently. "You _know_ what I mean."

Sasha felt the uncomfortable pull of a deeper conversation. "We're co-workers." She said, carefully. "It'd be...rude...to ditch you in the middle of all that."

August didn't cross his arms, his hands staying warm in his pockets, but she certainly felt the sentiment in his stare. "Rude?"

Sasha nodded, looking ahead at nothing. "That's right. Rude."

The bandit turned in the direction of a clatter. A moment later a rat scurried across the sidewalk. "...You could've been killed. I don't know what dimension you come from where that'd qualify as impolite." It was difficult to tell if he was scolding her or pressing her.

They walked in silence, then, the air between them transforming into something much more awkward than what they left at the concert. Sasha tried and failed to push away the cluster of thoughts nipping at the back of her mind. They'd been bubbling there for weeks now, a mutated ball of guilt and lust and loneliness that grew more and more ravenous the longer it was neglected. It wasn't like she _wanted_ to give him such a mealy response. Not when he was so keen on white lies and could sniff out dishonesty like a dog a long-buried toy. Not when she wanted to say something else entirely.

Sasha looked his way. Even in the dim light she could see his mouth in a thin line, brow furrowed in response to some frustrating thought. She must have stared at him too long, as he caught her gaze and narrowed his eyes. "...Yeah?" He asked, voice low. The con woman cleared her throat and tugged at the goggles around her neck. Suddenly her job felt very, very, very hard.

"Maybe 'co-workers' was...also...rude?" She began, kicking a rock and sending it skipping down the sidewalk.

"Yeah?" He asked, expression relaxing. The question was simple. Offering her the floor.

"How about...?" She started, only to stall, playing catch-up with the neglected tangle of the past days' and weeks' events. What the hell _could_ she say? 'Friends'? The tender bruise on her neck and his searching eyes didn't feel like a sign of 'friends'. 'Friends with benefits'? As she mused she realized that she actually had no damn clue where she stood with the man. She was an employee of his...and that's about where her certainty ended. Sometimes they felt like barely-acquaintances as they milled about the necessities of day-to-day drudgery. A 'hello' here. An order there. Other times they leaned on one another far too often to be simple co-workers.

Laying on the roof of the bar together. Chatting in the back room. August confiding small details with her, concerns and irritations alike. She, in turn, venting with aplomb and regretting it later, despite the man never giving her a reason to do so. Each small memory played back and forth in her brain like an old hologram, trying as best she could to get a grasp on the bigger picture. With a start she realized she hadn't even _kissed_ him yet. Not even at the concert when they were so close they could taste each other's breath. Why the hell did she feel so...afraid?

She'd been silent for too long. August opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he had to say was muffled by the gunshot.

A bullet tore through her thigh, sending her stumbling to the dirty ground. " _Fuck_!" Sasha cursed; she barely caught herself on her hands, biting her tongue and dotting the cobblestones with blood.

" _Found you!_ " A voice snarled. Tassle stood at the top of the stairs leading into the main district, his form shadowed by the purple and yellow lights behind him. His stragglers were nowhere to be found. No doubt they were currently ransacking the Purple Skag or ran off entirely after a futile search.

"Shit, what the...!" She hissed around her swollen tongue, ducking behind a trash can as another shot popped off next to her foot. "You little _rats_." Tassle crowed, voice somehow gleeful and murderous at the same time. "Never thought you'd actually run this far downtown. Thought your bar meant too much to you, _August_." He let the man's name hang in the air like a sassy insult. According to August's wild-eyed stare, it worked. There was no time for retort -- he barely rolled out of the way as Tassle fired again, shattering an old wooden signpost. Sasha saw his form disappear into the black of a nearby alley.

"It was a simple offer. So _simple_ , just how you like it." Tassle cocked his rifle and slowly descended down the steps. Sasha kept her breathing level, one hand clutching her wounded leg as his heavy footsteps matched the steady pounding of her heart. Without a gun and surrounded by flimsy trash and uncertain shadows, her options were shrinking before her. She had a knife in her boot -- it was no match for the Stomper he was carrying, but it could provide a useful distraction. The only thing that stayed her hand was utter silence on August's end. Her ears strained to catch his voice, an extra pair of footsteps or any movement whatsoever. Where did he _go_?

"The great August, Vallory's number one _bitch,_ running away?" Tassle roared, firing a shot into the air. It echoed hauntingly into the night. "Well, aren't you _something_!" He fired another. The man was working himself into a frenzy. Sasha's stomach sunk so fast it nearly gave her vertigo. He couldn't have left her. He wouldn't. "You think I won't seek you out?" Tassle taunted into the crooked dark alleyways that surrounded them. "You look like a damn candle, you scrawny, blonde mother _fucker_!"

Sasha knew Tassle wouldn't forget about her for long. If anything, he'd use her as bait once he got over his swaggering performance and remembered she was there. All she had was a knife and the element of surprise. That, and...

"Hey, are you Tassle?" She yelled from around the garbage can. The man stopped yelling mid-sentence. ' _Well, that got his attention_.' She thought hastily. ' _Time to keep the ball rolling_ '.

"Who's asking, eh?" He replied after a moment's deliberation.

"I heard you were one hell of a crime lord." Sasha responded, not moving from her hiding place.

The man chortled. "I am, darling. I am."

Her tongue was becoming difficult to talk around. "Oh? So what's someone like you hanging out with goons like that?" Sasha hoped with all her might Tassle was a vain man. All she had to go off of was August's impromptu history lesson when they were fleeing the Purple Skag not even hours ago. According to their ragtag outfits and colors, Tassles' accompanying bandits were quick hires. At the very most.

"They're a start. A start on my way back to glory." He said, tone becoming contemplative. "What, you want an application?" He chuckled at his own joke, his footsteps alerting her to the shrinking space between them.

She reached into her boot and pulled out the small dagger Fiona gave her a few years ago. Sliding it up her sleeve, she called out, "Maybe we can work something out. You looking for August?"

"Oh, you caught that, did you?" He sounded a little tickled at this unexpected change. "You want to help me, hon?" Sasha's hackles raised, but she kept her voice slightly sweet and slightly desperate. "Why not? You want to shoot my boss and I want to get out in one piece. If you promise not to fill me full of holes I'll tell you everything I know." Sasha felt the knife up her sleeve shift as she moved her hands above the trash can's lid. When he didn't shoot she continued to raise her arms in a show of surrender, gradually standing and easing her way around the bin as best she could with the bullet eating its way through her flesh. The muscles in her leg spasmed uncertainly and she bit the inside of her cheek to help her focus.

Tassle seemed as large as a truck when he was up close. She could see a few shards of glass twinkling in his hair from earlier. "Huh..." He muttered as he observed her, lowering his rifle point just a hair. Not far enough she could risk a motion, especially with her compromised leg. "You'd be a little scrawny for muscle." Sasha decided to stall.

"Who needs muscles when you have things people want?" She responded easily, even as blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. The man's eyes were shadowed behind a pair of dark shades, though she could see his bushy brows raise.

"Then you better find your niche and _soon_ , 'cause I have a mob boss to finish off." He held his gun up to her head. ' _Shit_ '. Sasha thought, her hands turning clammy. ' _That's not what I wanted_!' He tapped her cheek with the rifle point, its metal so cold it burned. "What do you got for me?"

"...That depends. You want money?" She asked, wanting nothing more than to spit out the blood building up in her mouth. "Or do you want glory?"

Tassle's shades glinted in the light. "Glory is all that matters, at the end of the day." He murmured after a long, deliberate moment. "Money dries up. Food needs to be replaced. Buildings collapse from old age. Deeds, though? They last for decades. _Centuries_ , even. They get bastardized, sure...but they never die." The bandit king chuckled, shrugging casually, his gun tilting away from her head at an angle from the movement. Sasha's heart clutched in anticipation. "Consider it my version of immorta-"

He never finished his sentence -- Tassle's head shattered when a cinder block slammed into his temple from behind, at such an angle it could be confused for a batter's home run swing. The shotgun fired harmlessly into the air, Sasha's ears ringing in complaint from the close range. The world seemed to screech to a halt, the bandit falling in slow-motion before her, blue locks swirling like a comet's tail. With a meaty thud Tassle collapsed on the ground, his rifle clattering to the ground uselessly a few feet away.

Sasha slowly wiped his blood from her face.

"...Ew."

August stood over him, panting from the exertion. He dropped the brick callously on Tassle's body, flicking bits of pink off his shirt. His eyes were an uncomfortably bright blue against his stained face. "You all right?"

Sasha nodded, dizzily, the scene taking a moment to catch up with her from the adrenaline. "Yeah...yeah, I'm okay." August walked up to her, his brow crinkled in apprehension. It was another moment before she realized he was looking at her leg.

"I thought..." He started, cutting himself off abruptly. The con woman felt warmth bloom in her chest, small and uncertain. She thought he'd be suspicious about her act. In fact, she expected it.

He was just...worried.

"I...I'm glad you came back." Sasha managed to say once her senses had returned.

"I'm glad you didn't actually sell me out." He responded mildly. Their words hung in the air, cautious and weary. To her surprise, August was the first to break it. "Were you going to?"

She didn't know how her answer sounded so genuine, even as the omnipresent knowledge of her ongoing role created guilty snakes in the pit of her stomach. "Of course not." She smiled, not trusting herself to fake a laugh. "If I was going to screw you over, I would've done it when Tassle plowed through the front of your bar like the Kool-Aid Man."

August stared at her, long and hard. Sasha attempted to mop her mouth with her arm, frowning miserably as her stained sleeve only made a further mess. He held her gaze for what felt like a lifetime, only to turn and walk over to where Tassle's rifle lay. There was an edginess to his words, bringing to mind a wild animal backed into a corner. "I...appreciate it." He muttered, giving her a small smile over his shoulder, almost sweet in spite of the blood caked on his face.

"Come on, Autumn. Least I could do after you saved my neck twice." She joked tiredly, finally spitting out some of the blood. Her tongue felt like a shoe. "No holds barred with the great Purple Skag, right?"

The man's cautious smile slowly faded.

"...The _bar_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- -


	4. Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August is assigned a last-minute supply mission, the drudgery and danger of Pandoran life slowly catching up to him.

What a miserable morning.

August dragged his hands down his face, gazing moodily at the cold pallor of his skin in the bathroom mirror as he mentally recited the day ahead of him. He'd just discovered William was out of commission thanks to a nicely placed leg trap he came across while trying to return through one of Hollow Point's backroads; the man had put on a brave front, but there wasn't a single planet in the galaxy that could make his mangled ankle function in half a day. The meeting would have to go on, as they were far too low on gear and people to justify an attempt at a later date. To top it off, his truck was still at the repair shop and his head felt like it was being slammed between the cymbals of those damned wind-up monkey toys.

Sometimes a good night's sleep felt like a myth.

The mob boss' vanity fought and eventually lost with his exhaustion -- he'd given up trying to fine-tune his hair and thrown on his best jacket instead, a battered but trustworthy tanned leather piece he'd had for years. August rubbed idly at the inner side of the coat's wrist: ' _Ardan was he-_ '. It was almost entirely faded away. He hated coffee, but he downed a full cup and a half to keep his eyes from shutting as he left his complex and headed toward one of Hollow Point's exits. Dawn was a filthy pink, mocking him for his sleepless night and making sure none of the warmth from the sun reached the garage when he arrived.

It was one of a few shacks on the outer fringes of the cave city, small and rare plots of land dedicated only to those with money and reputation. While he would visit every now and again to check up on proceeds, his full-time stint at the Purple Skag took up the majority of his week. August knew the outer roads like the back of his hand; with William on leave, he'd have to fill in as head of the provisions until they found someone of equal competence. There was nobody he could trust his bar to on such short notice (Tector was good for one thing and one thing only), so it was with great reluctance he placed a 'Closed' sign above his bar's front door.

"No, you look ridiculous. Take it off."

He turned to see Scov and Brandy, two long-time recruits, bickering over what appeared to be a dirty blanket.

"It's fuckin' _freezin'_ , mate. I could jus' put it 'round my neck like a weird cape, see...won't get in the way, eh?" Scov wound the filthy scrap around his face, smiling through strands of messy red hair.

"How am I s'posed to ride bitch if you have a big damn rag slappin' me in the _face_?" Brandy countered, fingers grasping as if desperate to yank the blanket off and be done with it. Scov took a few steps back.

"Well, jus'...sit on it." He mumbled. "Can't hit you in the face if you sit on it."

August rubbed his temples.

His mother had insisted on his presence over the phone. While she was content to suffer idiots with marketable skills, she didn't have patience for idiots who didn't know their place. August was no stranger to striking a little educational fear in the hearts of those throughout the social pyramid; while Scov and Brandy made a fine bodyguard pair, they hardly shared a brain between them. Faro was cynical enough, but he was also the furthest thing possible from a people person without being an outright Kraggon. Raine, Arrow, Yelena, Jeer, Seamus, the twins that shunned names in favor of a string of numbers that changed every month -- they were all a veritable shit stew of loose cannons and thugs, where the slightest shake could explode the barrel and lay waste to years of hard work. It was a mundane but necessary chore keeping them all faithful; friendship and loyalty, he learned, were concepts in name only.

He had just a dozen members under his command, the most that could be spared on short notice. "William ain't gonna bleed to death, is he? That wound was _ugly_." Brandy asked him, strapping on her helmet and sidling behind her partner.

"He'll be fine. If worst comes to worst, we can get him a prosthetic." August answered, checking his watch; he always made it a point to be as punctual as possible, even at the last minute.

"A prosthetic? Those cost an arm and a leg, they do." Scov remarked, pausing for a moment in light of his pun. "...Arm and a leg? _Get it?_ " He cackled, nudging Brandy and eliciting an embarrassed groan.

August chose one of the motorbikes in lieu of his truck; even with the bitter cold (and bitter ingrates), he savored these trips in the outlands and wanted to feel the open air in its fullest. Gliding across the Pandoran desert with the wind kissing the bare skin between his helmet and jacket collar made it easy to pretend, for just a few moments, he was finally leaving this shithole once and for all. He'd gaze at the stars and planets above, vague pastel orbs though they were, and wonder idly about the lives others lead millions of miles away. Futures weren't easy to envision on Pandora and there were days August all but forgot how.

Yellow peered shyly from behind pink and gray. Their breath froze and lingered in contrails behind them, warmth still a theory as they neared Sunset Arch. Even at a distance it was a striking area, massive archways of stone rising and dipping out of the ground like impromptu bridges. The sun would funnel its light in-between the gaps of rock and sandy earth, tricking the eye to appear like giant headlights during certain times of day. With the cloud cover not quite broken, the arches seemed still and menacing behind their shadowed walls of morning silver. A group of bandits waited at the foot of one of the bends, cigarettes and lighters blinking behind curled hands.

There had been a skirmish over a hidden stash of loot. One of his members had stumbled upon it in the middle of the night, only for a small gang nearby to contest that with a few warning shots. A fight had broken out, the scrap becoming so violent it forced intervention in light of sustained reputation on _both_ ends; the bandits had called for reinforcements, his members for him. Although August could understand the sentiment, he wasn't exactly lesser known -- if anything, his presence as Vallory's second-in-command would likely be seen as an attempted threat. Things could get ugly in a heartbeat. At least, more than they _usually_ could.

On the other hand, he had the reputation _and_ the resources to cow them into inaction. While August was commendable in a fight, he also saw little need to start bloodshed over anything that could be resolved with words. Gang life was a tenuous dance between intimidation and camaraderie, with pacts made as quickly as they were broken and threats linguistic currency. The man had made it clear over the years how much he valued a well-kept word and, likewise, what he would do to those who didn't keep it. A talk with the bandits could not only avoid unnecessary casualties and refresh their stock, but potentially sway them to their side and beef up their numbers in their dry spell. It was a win-win situation either way...if he played his cards right.

He parked a handful of yards away, pulling off his helmet with a restrained sigh. Scov remained on his bike, though he called out to August, "Should I keep a vantage point from here? Y'know, jus' to make sure nothin' gets out of control." It seemed wise as long as you forgot one of the most important rules of the outlands: _always_ check for hidden enemies. Even a pack of poor and desperate scavengers would know better than to meet with a more well-known gang without a few tricks up their sleeve. He told Scov as such, making him meekly rub the back of his head and mutter something about 'throwin' out ideas'.

"This is their turf. They're likely to be more prepared than we are." August mused. Scov didn't look convinced. He continued. "Do a little searching, especially on the top of these arches. Make sure nobody tries anything while we talk."

Scov cocked his rifle eagerly, keeping it just low enough to stay out of the bandits' line of sight. "Can do, boss."

Brandy paused in the middle of braiding her hair. "We could stay on the bikes." She interjected. "Crash into them and create a distraction if'n you want."

One bandit, a fellow that had been at the original skirmish, spoke up. "They've _already_ started shit. I say we shoot 'em all and get it over with. Set an example." Another member protested that, only for another to support the proposition. August rubbed his forehead. The headache was coming back.

The debate was cut short when he held up a hand. Without another word he walked toward the cluster of scavengers and thieves beneath the bend, hands out in a display of peace.

"What you want, huh? What you need with a few shields?" One called out as he approached.

"Are you August? Vallory with you or what?" Another yelled, a touch nervously. The group was a few dozen strong, poorly armed at best and with only two (visible) trucks to their name. A few merely held bats or iron pipes, suggesting good weapons went to those with the most rank or skill. August folded his arms carefully, pausing to stand in view but just close enough to the bikes in case of nasty surprises.

"One of my members said they found it first." He yelled, the echo strange to his ears. "I'm getting two sides of the story here and I want to see if we can reach a compromise." The bandits scuffled and shifted. A few hefted their guns, not aiming but not sheathing them, either.

"Who's the leader of this outfit?" August pressed. While it wasn't quite the term he wanted to use, insults were best kept to a minimum until he could get a handle on how cooperative they were. Even when one of their own stepped up, a surprisingly short and skittish individual, he kept his face in a relaxed half-smile. "So, what's your name?" He started. They peered at him from behind a blue bandana, eyes narrowed nearly to slits.

"Don't need to know mine. I know who _you_ are, chum." They attempted to growl in a voice a tad too high-pitched to reach the timbre. "I know _just_ who you are and you can't have it. We found it, fair and square."

August tilted his head in a show of consideration. "Yeah, that's not what I heard." The leader attempted to square their shoulders, only coming up to his chest. The mob boss held back a snort; there were perks to being one of the tallest people in any given area. "I heard there was a stash of loot buried beneath one of the arches over there. Bullets, grenades..." He said, stopping short as he was interrupted.

"It's _ours_." They repeated, almost petulantly. His patience snapped.

"I _don't_ recommend you continue whatever banter you're attempting here." August growled. The leader held up a fist at that, straightening up as their group cocked their guns in unison, emphasizing their next words with a nasty punctuality.

"Then make your move."

While August's gang had the ability to flee and in good time, backing off simply wasn't an option. Not when a reputation was worth more than solid gold; the last thing they needed was a small-time group of stragglers spreading the word that Vallory's gang was full of blowhards...or Vallory's reaction if the story made the rounds her way. August's bandits growled and shifted in their bikes in response, attention turned his way for further orders. The stalemate had made its terms and conditions clear. August knew he had to salvage the situation and fast.

"We'll settle it in a brawl." His voice echoed between the arches.

Everyone, from the Sunset Arch bandits to his own crew, muttered curiously. If there was anything August could count on more than money, it was the allure of a good show. Entertainment was almost as valued a commodity as oil or supply parts; as miserably empty the land seemed, entire patches were regularly devoted to road races, skag fights and impromptu dance parties. Shoot-outs were commonplace, as they always would be, but the rare upside to an even more desperate strain of lifestyle was a subsequently desperate thirst for escapism. Well, that _and_ the natural desire to show up a rival group. August gestured to his person. "No weapons. Just fists. Whoever wins gets the loot." He said. "Whoever loses...fucks off."

The bandits huddled together in a display of deliberation, though it was entertained for mere seconds. "Done!" The leader shouted from somewhere in the mass of bodies. August's gang members nodded his way and crowed in growing assent. Everyone began to form a circle. " _Ah_ , ah." August interjected, pointing at the Sunset Arch crew. "Put your guns down." He waved at his to do the same; it was a tentative few seconds as everyone eyed one another, waiting for the other to turn or reveal a sinister hand. Eventually they caught on that the plan was just that and everyone soon stood barehanded, a fascinating exhibit of virulently uncomfortable and bloodthirsty. August pounded an eager fist into his hand, strolling into the tight semi-circle.

The Sunset underlings and leader alike had elected a tall, wiry member of their group to represent them -- wearing studded jeans and pulling off a classic mask to loop around his neck, their arms and chest remained bare, a work of art coated with swirling scarification. Similar designs were recreated in paint and carvings on the masks and jackets of his band behind him.

"Get 'im, Shard!" One of his peers howled.

"Crush his jaw off!" Shard stared at August and dragged his thumb across his throat in a clear threat; the movement revealed a large, jagged chunk of metal sticking out of his left shoulder blade, no doubt a testament to his name.

" _Hell_ yeah, August!" Brandy yelled from the cluster of motorbikes, echoed with gusto by her fellows. The two circled like predator and prey, sizing one another up, even as the crowd egged them on with cheers and jeers.

The cold was forgotten, bandits on both sides making hasty bets and predictions as the fight went underway. August swung first, his right hook whipping through the air with malicious intent. His opponent dropped to the ground, jumping into a halfway crouch and attempting to slug him in the stomach. The mob boss danced backwards, swinging his fists in front of him instinctively and keeping his steps light. His heartbeat and the eager screams of the crowd surrounding him roared in his ears. They were all mere feet away, assuring that a sudden cowardly sprint wouldn't get very far. August slapped away a punch Shard attempted on his right, curving a sharp elbow into the bandit's throat and sending him into a coughing fit.

Shard tried to shoulder him, then; August instinctively pulled his arms up to block, cold metal dragging across the soft flesh and sending his blood curling to the ground. He hissed in pain, eyes flaring wide with rage. "Sorry, chum! I know you said no weapons!" Shard's leader hooted in delight. "We've never been able to pull that hunk o' scrap outta him!" The mob boss kept his forearms curled over his face in a makeshift shield, peering between the gap, preferring a few scratches to losing an eye. Dust began to cloud their feet from view as they shuffled a dance of death, striking and shoving and pulling away, neither quite ready to drag the other down into a stranglehold or a pin. August risked an uppercut as Shard leaned back on his heels; the man recovered with a surprising tenacity, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a headbutt. The mob boss reeled backwards, stars bursting across one half of his vision.

There had been no other form of therapy for August as reliable as a good, old-fashioned brawl. When alcoholism threatened to put him six feet under and weed lost its edge, brawling was a channel in which he could funnel every last wretched ounce of stress and fury Pandora filled him with every day. While he had long since lost track of how many times he had stepped into the ring, he remembered every single fight with a crystal clarity -- his nearly ten-minute scuffle with Hollow Point's reigning champion, Icky Thump, or his sudden death match with Skrakk Head. He had barely crawled out of the ring alive during that final round, the woman nearly succeeding in choking the life out of him on the stadium floor with the skrakk skull mask she reportedly had never taken off since she was a child.

The bar only got higher with every near death experience. Blinking at the swelling that surrounded his right eye, he improvised instinct for every flaw Shard displayed -- the way he favored his mutilated shoulder, his heavy footwork, the subtle burst of confidence every time his peers hollered his name. While he showed the natural ferocity of a thug with more than a few scraps under his belt, his brutality ran dry in light of a miserably sloppy form. The mob boss allowed himself a few moments of redundant behavior, attempting again and again to strike his head from the right, creating a pattern to curry surprises' favor; Shard answered predictably, attempting to ram him in a short-bursted charge and ending up trapped in August's chokehold.

The fight shifted from menacing to messy in a hot second. The mob boss drove his fist into his face, attempting to break the soft bone connecting his nose to his skull. They fell to the ground, sand erupting upwards in a plume, Shard scrabbling and writhing for freedom while August slugged him in his ribs, stomach and any other tender area he could reach. The cheers and screams reached a desperate pitch, a howling roar that couldn't penetrate the red seeping into his vision. Shard's struggling had backfired; the metal chunk in his shoulder had sunk into the ground, all but eliminating the use of one arm beneath his body. He became well and truly pinned.

They had called him the Purple Skag, for his tendency to maul his opponents to such a degree they turned an ugly shade of purple. He hadn't stopped when he pulled apart Skrakk Head's mask and pounded the bare flesh of her face into a blue pulp. He didn't stop when Shard howled his surrender, nor when his peers shouted threats and pleads alike -- one, two, _three_ more times he struck, until blood spurted from the bandit's nose like a fountain and a tooth embedded between his knuckles. August had no intent to kill him, but it was standard protocol to send a message to the rest of his peers. Shard passed out in-between punches, teeth scattered in a white halo around his head and face so swollen as to be unrecognizable. His gang was just as silent as he was.

Brandy broke the silence with a hoarse gasp. "Holy _shit_."

The mob boss' ears were ringing, his pants and shirt coated in a soggy layer of dust and blood. Voices ebbed around him, congratulatory cheers mingling with hoarse groans. A few of the Sunset Arch raiders attempted to raise their voices in protest, only for them to dwindle down as August slowly rose to his feet, turning to face the rest of the bandits through his one decent eye. He pulled the tooth from between his fingers, flicking it disdainfully onto the ground before him.

" _Pay up_."

\--

Vallory wasn't a woman who wasted her time.

She ran tired fingers through her hair, noting with a glance in the mirror she needed to re-do her dye. It had been a long and thankless day of crunching numbers, running meetings and making calls (with the occasional threat) -- the evening was finally beginning to wind down, the air feeling both eager and listless as her employees checked in with end-of-the-day requests and well-wishings alike. She crossed her legs in a slow and deliberate show of arrogance when two mercenaries walked through the front door of her office. "Good to see you, Vallory." Kroger began, polite to a fault. Finch nodded with a grunt.

Their reputation was a solid one, an elaborate laundry list of successfully obtained marks and transport commissions from all corners of the area and beyond. Kroger had impressed her months back with his canny eye for detail during a raid, cementing him as the sharper of the two and a dependable option on her contact list. Finch may have a short temper, but he was reliable in a pinch and more than willing to get his hands dirty to get a job done. "I'm running short on crew. I need you available at least three days of the week. Night shifts." The queenpin said to Kroger as she double-checked her schedule. The mercenary nodded, rubbing his mustache in an idle tic.

"We can do that, sure." Finch shifted uncomfortably; his partner gave his shoulder a comforting pat. "We can watch the season finale on reruns, dude." Kroger assured.

The hires that preceded them made the mistake of trying to stiff her on a deal, a smaller series of trades she had established near New Haven to replenish lost stock. Their power hungry nature was as easy to smell as warm carrion under the sun, hardly different than any average schmoe she had to interact with on any given day, but it only became a problem when they sabotaged the trade instead of guarding its route and tried to run off with pounds of ammunition and machine tools. Brought back to her office by Finch and Kroger's particular brand of talents, they had done the familiar song and dance of small-time criminals with little and very much to lose, begging her for forgiveness and creating elaborate promises with punctual delivery dates. She had them taken out to her backyard and used their heads for knife throwing practice -- it did wonders for her stiff shoulders.

"Ma. You're looking sprightly today."

Vallory didn't turn from her papers, waving one hand idly. "Kroger. Finch. You're excused." Her mother's instinct honed in on the nervous flick of her son's eyes as he stood in the doorway, dust floating in the beams of light that filtered through the shoddy curtain. His jacket and jeans appeared tidy, but the bloodstains on his boots suggested a hasty clean-up job. She took off her reading glasses, folding them carefully in her lap. The mercenaries strolled out, Kroger offering a friendly nod August's way. "How does he get his hair like that?" Finch muttered before they vanished out of earshot.

"And you look like you barely got your leg out of a trap." She responded when her son closed the door behind them. Queenpins didn't get as far as they did without being able to read the air as easily as one could a book; while August was calculating enough in his business proceedings, he could no more easily fake a mood with her than the sun could fake a cold.

"We reached a compromise." He began cautiously.

"And?"

She let her question hang in the air. August had begun to wring his hands together, as he so often did when she made her discontent clear. For a moment he seemed a twelve year-old boy again, eyes swollen with tears as she lectured one of his many scraps with the local children. "And...we lost the loot." He finished, miserably. "Bandits at Sunset Arch had, uh, hooked up a bomb to the stuff before we arrived. Blew everything into the sky. More petty than we gave the little bastards credit for." The queenpin let out a sigh. Her son's shoulders slumped.

Whoever said patience was a virtue was a mealy-mouthed liar. It took all her willpower to swallow back her ugly disappointment and transform it into something resembling instructional. "You're not a small-time downtown boxer brawling for chump change anymore, August. You're a mob boss, now. Which means when you make mistakes, everyone _feels_ it." She turned her good eye on him. "Myself, in particular." Her son's expression furrowed into a scowl.

"I know that." He started, indignation stark in the squaring of his shoulders. "You think I don't?"

Vallory slowly stood out of her chair, gathering her shades and gloves in one smooth motion and walking to where her son stood. He avoided her gaze, sheltering his glare in some far-off corner of her office. "In a metaphorical drought, we can't afford one person drinking water meant for five people." She said, each word enunciated with an acidic certainty. "You wasted _gallons_ of gas and hours of time only to get into a scrap and for what? To come back empty-handed. I can't line my pockets with excuses." His mouth ground in a thin line, holding back an argument or a retort. Her new vantage point revealed the purple shadowing his right eye, the swelling holding together his bottom lip.

"Look..." He started, risking a glance up at her. "We still-" The queenpin backhanded her son across the face. He cried out sharply, blood dribbling in spurts around his feet.

" _Fuck_! Shit..." He hissed, cupping a hand over his torn mouth and staring furiously. Vallory watched her son's shoulders quiver with rage, then the methods he used to swallow that rage in light of her displeasure. August wiped his mouth scrupulously, breath coming in short, bitter pants.

"...Out." She said, flicking blood from her hand before reaching for her coat beside the doorway. Only the creaking of the floorboards signaled his departure.

She wasn't a woman who wasted her time. Hypocrisy, though, was one of the few lines she drew in her life. She couldn't waste her son's time, either. Not with sweet nothings, the tender treatment of storybook mothers. It had been a pact she made with herself many years back, to chip away at the softness that always threatened to swallow him whole and create a hardiness that could live through the impossible. They had survived the bombing of their home town. The Howlers' meticulous scouring of the poor and destitute residents of the outlands. Gang fights, gang wars, attempted assassinations, garden-variety illness. They would survive this.

Vallory watched her son out the dirty window as he descended the staircase leading away from the complex, hands shoved in his pockets with a defeated hunch in his shoulders. It was only then she allowed herself to hope, however distantly, that she hadn't failed him after all.

\--

It was a long walk back to the Purple Skag.

The leftover throbbing in his knuckles was a welcome sedative for the angry ache in his chest. He wasn't a fool -- he knew the situation could have turned out better. He knew he had allowed himself a moment of egotistical weakness, drunk on the high of temporary freedom and the eyes of dozens of impressionable gangsters. He also knew it was becoming harder and harder to please his mother, no matter what he did. A part of him wondered if impressing her was a lost cause he had fooled himself into believing. Another part of him wondered if it was her age catching up with her, one of the few things she couldn't cow into submission and use to her advantage. It was a surprisingly ugly thought, one he shoved away with little effort.

His bar's weekday schedule allowed a few more hours before shutting down. The temptation to keep up the 'We're Fucking Closed' sign and head straight home nipped voraciously at his heels, that is, until he glimpsed two regulars down the street. He internalized his sigh as one waved his way, calling out his name.

"Oi, August! I saw you were closed, huh?" They had yelled over the hubbub of the surrounding crowd, milling out of their shops and cars as the allure of night crept overhead. Hollow Point's work and play culture was as predictable as the sun rising.

"It was. You getting off work, Mbatha?" August replied, smiling only to wince as the motion pricked at his cut lip.

August never turned down a deal, even if it was something as small as a little extra change at the end of a shitty day. His customers took their usual seats at the bar, gravitating to their favorite spot even in the dim glow that struggled through the surrounding windows; Mbatha eyed his face curiously, but kept the conversation on the subject of a series of recent work-related events. He flicked on the lights and blinked away the spots that ate at the corner of his vision. The two attempted small talk and he nodded as politely as he could intermittently, checking his glasses for spots before starting on their usual orders. The Purple Skag was the closest thing he had, and ever _would_ have, to a child. It was nearly three years old, practically a decade in Pandoran terms, and had garnered a hard-earned reputation in the cave city as a reliable and (relatively) easygoing retreat for local bandits, workers and travelers of all stripes. August managed the register, calculated the till, made the drinks; it was a labor of love, one he only shared at arm's length with a spare workforce in the form of a bouncer and a few traders who refreshed his stock every other week. He set an Old Slappy and a Skag Twister on the counter in front of the pair, nodding a greeting at another customer stepping through the front door.

The last time he had tried to increase his workforce his efforts were thanked with a greedy scavenger who tried to rob him within the week. His already thin tolerance for the concept of trust had completely snapped and he had made an inward promise to hire with further scrutiny (and rarity). While it increased his workload exponentially, it was an exhaustion he had been forced to come to terms with. Little sleep and long work days were a relatively small price to pay for a successful business in one of the most hostile environments Pandora had to offer. At least, that's what he liked to think during his less fatigued moments. A cluster of voices bubbled outside, the front door opening a few moments later to a flood of workers off their shifts and eager for an hours' respite.

His mistrust scrapped with pragmatism as he pulled out cups and pints. He may need to get another worker for his bar, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always trying to figure out ways of squeezing more atmosphere into my work. 
> 
> It's one of my favorite ingredients of any media. As necessary as adding flour to a cake.


	5. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha accompanies August on one of his deals, though she's beginning to wonder if she's in over her head.

Frost settled onto the sands and rocks of the wasteland, coating its familiar purples and blues in a fine fringe of white. Gravel crunched as sharp as birdcall as a young woman approached the small shack nestled between two boulders outside the outer fringe of Hollow Point, almost hidden from view.

A few bandits milled around the front, talking quietly amongst themselves. Sasha strolled up the slope as best she could on her bad leg, her most confident smile in place like a fancy bow tie. While it was difficult to be afraid of bandits bickering over which coat of paint to put on their bikes ("Nobody's afraid of pink!"), she reminded herself to be wary all the same. This was one of the more stable local gangs, after all, which was just a nice way of putting their superior tendency for organized violence and fearmongering. She was incredibly glad to have nabbed that sweater off a corpse Felix had found in one of the garages they'd taken refuge in recently -- cleaning it didn't seem fun at the time, but as of now it was one of the best ideas she'd ever had. While the cold still nipped at her, it kept her shivering to a minimum.

The gang members gave her a curiously wide berth, hardly looking twice as she walked through the front door. The shack was modestly sized (and modestly maintained), though it made up for it with a decent display of gear -- boxes filled to bursting with tools and spare tires stacked nearly to the roof, adding a claustrophobic feel to the already cramped garage. August's figure cut a stark silhouette against the gray morning, leaning against a truck and blowing the cold from his knuckles. He was wearing a thick jacket she'd never seen before, on top of a far less tattered pair of jeans and a dark pair of boots to match.

 _'Wow. He looks good.'_ She thought, feeling her face heat up as he smiled at her from behind his hands.

"You ready?" He asked when she approached.

"I was born ready." Sasha responded, patting the gun on her hip. "Literally. I was born with a gun in my hand. Took the midwife forever to pull me out." He chuckled politely at her joke, his breath's mist temporarily obscuring his face from view.

A hulking figure brushed past her, a car-mounted turret hefted over one shoulder like a mere box of supplies. "Fantastic. I was _hoping_ we'd get a comedian for this trip."

August turned a dry gaze on the man. "I don't know, Faro, I think it's _pretty_ funny you haven't even finished removing the turrets when we have less than ten minutes left. You could give her a run for her money." He left the man to his muttered curses, looking Sasha up and down. His voice lowered. "How's your leg?" Sasha looked at her still-firm bandages -- she was lucky Tassle's shot had only cut through muscle, allowing her to circumvent a cast in favor of some stitches and bed rest.

"Not bad. Just have to make sure not to put too much weight on it." She tapped her foot against the ground for emphasis.

August tilted his head, considering as he always did. "Good. If it gets too much, you let me know."

Sasha gave him a wink. "I think I can handle it." His eyes grew soft, then, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth and making her next words a little more difficult than she'd like them to be. "How's the Skag holding up?" She asked in the gentlest tone she could muster. It didn't salvage the short-lived moment, unfortunately, August's face hardening into a more familiar scowl.

"Not good." He sighed, tapping an irate finger against the truck's front bumper. "It's a pain in the ass figuring out the leftover stock. Even after patching up the hole Tassle left I got at least a week's worth of cleaning _and_ supplying ahead of me. Don't want people walking in with bloody footprints still on the floorboards." The con woman frowned sympathetically. It didn't seem right to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, so she went for the next best option.

"Well...if it gets too much, you let me know." She said, putting her hands in her pockets. The man was startled out of his frustrated reverie, blinking at her for the briefest of moments before chuckling. Sasha cocked an eyebrow. "I mean it..." She started, only for him to shake his head.

"No, I...thanks, Sash." He said, chuckling again as she raised her other brow. It was hard to tell if he believed her.

He left to change his truck's oil, leaving the con woman to check her gun (for the third time that morning) and gain her bearings. Even the sounds of tinkering and clanking couldn't drown out the sour murmurs behind her. "What, she the new princess of this outfit? August didn't even look at me twice when I got back from yesterday's skirmish with a bullet in my shoulder." A hoarse voice grumbled. She heard a soft _slap_ , followed by a barely concealed squeal.

"That's the new barmaid, you _tool_."

Yet another bandit's voice slid in, reedy and irritable. "So what? Doesn't explain why she's here and Yelena ain't."

Sasha had been many things, but certainly _not_ a mob princess. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face as she closed her gun's chamber and hooked it onto her belt. She caught August glancing at her from under his truck, eyebrows raised, as she walked across the room to where the bandits congregated. As much as she wanted to keep her fake interpersonal relationships list as short as possible, she was even _less_ interested in petty gang drama. Every ally, however temporary, was one less potential bullet between her eyes. "Hey. Is there anything I can do to help? You know, while we're waiting." she asked, rubbing her stiff fingers together. The group looked up at her, a collection of expressions ranging from curious to bitter.

While they showed a range of unique ensembles, they all wore some form of vest and red marker, be it a bandana or a wrap on their arm. She imagined it was a compromise between some form of individuality while staying identifiable at a glance. "What are you actually going to do? Besides make a mean glass o' lemonade." One asked her, braided up-do so complex Sasha wondered if she concealed anything unsavory inside. Faro chuckled from his position atop one of the trucks, causing the con woman to put on a small smile. _'Typical gang posturing'_.

"Support. I've done my fair share of deals in my time and I have an eye for business." The bandit seemed unconvinced.

"Yeah? So does Yelena." Sasha struggled to keep her smile in place.

"Who's Yelena?" The older woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

"A better businesswoman than you."

"Well, then...why isn't she here?" Sasha pressed -- this made the bandit pause in the middle of lighting her joint.

"Had to go on another run." She responded, a touch edgily. The con woman crossed her arms.

"Then we might as well figure something out together. For a gang that gets a rap for being the scariest motherfuckers in town, you sure spend a _lot_ of time complaining." One of the bandits chortled and nudged her bad-tempered fellow.

"You need to lighten up, Raine. We're always lookin' to find new allies in this garbage heap." Raine straightened up at that...at least, that's what Sasha thought, until August appeared behind her.

"She saved my ass the other day." His curt tone brooked no argument; Sasha's irritation ebbed at the authority presented on her behalf. "That's worth the benefit of the doubt, huh?" He added, putting a genial arm around her shoulders. She grinned in response and inwardly thanked the weather -- too cold to blush. Faro hopped down from his truck and sat on the boxes that wrapped around the small shack, rubbing oil from his hands.

August observed them all for a moment before starting; he spoke with the dull confidence of a person who had done similar speeches many times before. "We have exactly half a ton of fuel and a few weapons to transport from Star Landing. We're dealing with Nucleus, head of one of the small gangs up north. I have half the money, Faro carries the other half. The rules had to be established on short notice, unfortunately. No more than five people." He gave Sasha a glance before continuing. "Sasha will be my extra pair of eyes. Faro is filling in for William... _again_." He seemed to hold back a sigh.

The mob boss continued, gesturing to each bandit in question. "Raine and Arrow will round out the team. We set down our goods and pick them up at the _exact_ same time. No fuss, no pomp, no circumstance. Because it never hurts to be careful, I'm having Scov and Brandy drive nearby in case of any complications. They'll be out of sight, though, so don't start looking for them and revealing their position. We'll radio them if anything goes sour." He smiled wryly. "We couldn't have asked for a better shitty morning, really." His bandits chuckled in miserable assent, mist filling up the shack like car exhaust. Raine puffed on her cigarette and stared at Sasha moodily.

Sasha pretended she didn't notice. "So, you think something could go wrong with these guys?" she asked, hand on her hip. August crossed his arms.

"Something could _always_ go wrong. We've dealt with them before and they deliver, but they always came off as a little..." He gesticulated with one hand as he searched for the right word. "...desperate. It's to be expected from outland bandits, but it doesn't mean I'll take my chances." He paused in thought. "I've also heard they eat people, so there's your extra motivation." Raine nodded solemnly at that. Sasha didn't comment.

"Let's go." August finished, heading to his truck. Everyone stood in unison and made their way to their vehicles; after a few fitful coughs the roar of engines filled the small space, lights blinking away the gray with happy yellows and oranges. The mob boss beckoned Sasha to sit beside him with a wave of his hand.

"First-class treatment, eh?" She heard Scov say to his partner before they revved out the exit. "He normally drives alone."

Sasha hopped in, wincing at the bite of cold leather ("Sorry." August apologized. "There are butt towels in the back."). Despite the truck's initial misgivings it turned out to be a pleasant ride across the sands. She could just make out the bandits on their bikes in the morning mist, the mountains in the distance casting pale shadows behind them. They did wheelies and chased each other on the road, at one point snatching rocks off the ground to throw at each other in apparent dares. _'Thank goodness there's little to crash into.'_ she thought, reaching for the radio and turning it on after a few tries. Static blared, making her jump and nearly hit her head on the roof.

August put his chin in one hand, giving her a sideways smile as he steered with the other. "Good luck getting service on that thing. Been busted for months."

Sasha groaned and slumped back in her seat. "Damn. I didn't want to have to resort to singing..."

The man was quiet for a moment. Then, "...I'd like to hear that."

The young woman paused. "Oh. Really? Um." She cleared her throat. What song to sing? 'The Rat's Tale'? It was a children's folk ballad -- catchy, but not something to set a proper mood. 'Shut Up And Give Me My Money Already'? A good piece, but _far_ better when you had two or three other people doing the chorus after a few rounds of shots. She decided to stall.

"I'll sing if you sing."

August scrunched his face. "No."

Sasha stuck her tongue out. "What, I got to do this alone? You're a real gentlemen, summer boy."

He seemed to deliberate carefully over this jibe. "I'm...driving. I need to focus."

Sasha dropped her jaw. "That's...the _worst_ excuse I've ever heard in my life, wow."

August rubbed his goatee in consternation. "You'd thank me." Sasha crossed her arms. She wasn't letting it go.

"At least _give_ me something."

The man scoffed, taking his eyes off the road to give her an amused stare. "You're really putting a lot of stock into this, Sash."

She put her hands up. "Look, you asked! If you want to hear my angelic voice, you need to compensate me. It's only fair for an overworked bartender-chef, such as myself." She _was_ pushing it, and they both knew it, but he just smiled so _much_ when they were alone. It was as addicting as a tall glass of cider, where one couldn't help but chug and chug and chug and still ask for more.

August tapped a finger on the steering wheel. "I'll bite. What do you want in exchange for an, uh, angelic song?"

_'A kiss?'_

Sasha swallowed suddenly at the knot in her throat. "What?" August looked at her, blue eyes large.

"What?" she responded lamely, her voice betraying her in a fit of croakiness. _'Shit, did I say that out loud?'_

"A...diss? You want me to insult you?" August asked, a little uncertainly. Relief flooded Sasha like a warm bath.

"Uh, yeah. Roast the hell out of me, man."

The bandit frowned. "That's not what you said." _'Ha. Suspicious as always.'_

Sasha shrugged. "If you don't want to, that's fine. It's hard to insult hair this great anyway. I'll just sing and get it over with." She rolled down the window a little; August hissed at the sudden cold, but she'd rather the rush of air drown out any warbly notes that might creep into her vocal range.

_'The blues, the blues, the blues_

_Even my time with you_

_The omnipresent violet hue, the omnipresent violent hue_

_The blues, the blues, the blues_

_Take me away with you_

_Maybe they'll find my memories_

_Of a lovely shade of blue_

_The blues, too blue, a navy and periwinkle you_

_Why won't you ever_

_Will when you never_

_Please never ever_

_Be blue_

She held the last note a little longer than she meant to -- 'Pandoran Blues' was her and Fiona's favorite ever since they were kids. After a long day of scavenging, hiding and occasionally running from angry vendors, they'd tuck into their favorite corner of the caravan to listen to the radio and rest their aching muscles. Sometimes the van would park in a particularly good spot, where the satellites above lined up just right and gave them a bounty of melodies and talk shows to listen to. Other times they'd have to fill in the hybrid of static and silence themselves. 'Pandoran Blues' was a popular tune that showed up on many radio stations, following them around like a stray dog during their travels and becoming an irreplaceable part of their lives. Sometimes it even kept them warm at night when the broken radiator and tattered blankets could not.

"...Huh. That was really good." The man's voice was soft in surprise. Sasha put on a shy smile, though her stomach was dancing from his genuine praise. The buzz of engines crept up beside them -- Scov had pulled up on the passenger side, waving good-naturedly at them through the half-open window.

"Boss!" The man yelled. "Is she your radio station now, too?" August frowned and rolled up the window, muffling Brandy's rather loud retort.

Sasha chuckled, settling back into her seat. "C'mon. You don't have to flatter me." Her skin tingled in goosebumps when he caught her gaze.

"Why not? I have a lot to work with." He said, holding it for just a second before looking back at the road.

The air in the truck changed, ever so faintly, as charged as electricity. They said little as they neared their destination, watching the play of motorcycles weaving in and out of the fog like fish in water. The dust they kicked up blended imperceptibly into the surrounding haze and, momentarily, made it seem like the two of them were in another world entirely. Every breath she took was of August's scent, a somehow gentle blend of cigarette smoke and old leather. Time seemed to stand still. Sasha treasured these quiet moments as she gazed at an outcrop of tall, jagged rocks -- there were far too little of them lately.

Small figures gradually blossomed into their view as they pulled into Star Landing. Sasha squinted as they stepped out of the truck; Raine was already leaning against her bike, Faro waving over the bandits from where he stood by the others. Sasha resisted the urge to look into the horizon. Resisting the urge to rub the cold from her hands...not so much.

"Why the hell don't you have any gloves?" August asked, shutting the door behind him.

The gang had indeed shown up with five members, crouched in waiting on the very edge of the massive crater that gave Star Landing its name. It spanned what seemed like miles, a vast and sudden canyon that appeared years ago as the result of a chance meteorite, ending thousands of lives and either transforming the patch of land into a future tourist spot or a haunted dip in the Earth filled with the still-screaming souls of children...depending on who you talked to. The sun struggled to break through through the mist, hardly more than a bright smudge in a wash of beige. Sasha shifted uncomfortably. The cold needed to get its shit together already.

A smooth voice broke the silence. "...August. Good to see ya."

One stepped forward from the group -- the only thing that distinguished her from the hodgepodge of tattered leather and splashes of (what she hoped was) paint was her sheer size. Easily a head taller than Faro and with a hearty physique to match, it couldn't be clearer who was in charge. "Morning, Nucleus." August answered politely.

The woman eyed Sasha for a moment before nodding at the mob boss. "Enjoy yer drive?" She asked, in an accent the con woman couldn't quite place. August shrugged.

"I did, yeah. I'll enjoy it a lot more with new gear in tow, though. You brought them?" Nucleus walked with purpose to a pile of rocks. She brushed it with one giant hand, the purple fading away to reveal a smooth brown -- they had spraypainted the barrels to masquerade as boulders. Clever.

"Half a ton of fuel an' three guns, like we said. A Torgue Bastard, a Buffalo an' a lil hodgepodge I made meself. Call 'er the Dancer."

August raised his eyebrows. "Why do you call it that?"

The bandit grinned, showing a row of snaggled, gilded teeth. "'Cause they make yer target _dance_ , o' course." The bandit laughed, slapping the barrel for emphasis. August rolled his eyes. Sasha tilted her head. Did the barrel...move?

"Faro." August called out. Faro stepped away from his bike, taking out a small case and, after glancing at his boss for confirmation, opening it. It was filled with neat rows of bills.

"Sasha." August prompted -- she reached into his coat and pulled out the other case. The mob boss had his hands out in a display of cooperation, gun untouched at his side. Nucleus' bandits milled about them, their own hands open but their guard clearly up. Their edgy nature was unsurprising. Betrayal was the name of the game in Pandora -- even the merest _suggestion_ of something going wrong would mean a thousand bullets in all directions. Although weapons were being held at a literal arm's length, Sasha kept a keen ear pressed to instinct. August had promoted her for her intuitiveness, after all, and her gut had yet to fail her.

He tapped the bills with one finger. "Ten thousand. As promised." Nucleus peered at the case, rubbing her chin.

"Ten thousand...ten thousand, eh, I do believe t'was more than _that_." Sasha heard August scoff under his breath. She followed the train of thought -- trying to weasel more out of the deal was the _second_ name of the game, though easily the most foolhardy. Despite the plethora of armed bandits mere feet away from each other, the biggest threat at the moment wasn't imminent danger, but wasted time. The weather was certainly on their side -- her fingers were starting to turn purple.

August's tone became terse. "I do believe you misremembered. _Ten thousand_ was what we agreed upon over the phone. If you wanted to haggle you should have done it _then_."

The bandit leader seemed unperturbed. "Where will ye find a better deal than this, eh? Surely ye can make it twelve thousand. Yer a _big_ group, after all. Ye an' the rest of yer goons could fill the 'ole behind me!" Sasha feigned an exaggerated frown in Faro's direction, scanning the horizon over his shoulder for Scov and Brandy. They were lucky to have fog -- she could've sworn she glimpsed movement in the distance, but it very well could have been a pack of skags. August continued the banter, his tone becoming drier and drier with each passing second.

"And where, exactly, will you find actual vehicles to use this oil? Last I saw you were a little low on equipment yourselves. You _like_ walking all the way out in the middle of nowhere to do deals?" Sasha felt the sting of second-hand embarrassment in her gut. _'Don't insult them, August!'_

Nucleus rolled her thick neck, slowly, deliberately staring the man down. August cracked his knuckles. Sasha wondered if she should start flexing. _'Okay, this isn't good. We need to figure something out. This argument or stalemate or whatever it is won't hold for long.'_ She resisted the urge to reach for her Magnum; as if hearing her thoughts two of Nucleus' bandits walked a few feet away, talking with one another in hushed tones. Nucleus held a polite finger up to August, walking over to where they stood. Sasha took the moment to murmur to the man. "...I have a bad feeling about this."

The mob boss sighed audibly through his nose, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah? We're doing a deal with a greedy bunch of scavengers outside a giant _hole_. We'll get it over with."

Sasha frowned. "No, I mean...I _really_ don't like this." He looked down at her, brows furrowed. The con woman chose her words carefully. "The barrel moved when she hit it. It should be as heavy as a rakk hive if it's filled with oil." August turned to the items in question, eyes narrowed nearly to slits.

"...What? What are you talking about?" Sasha gestured vaguely, a light smile on her lips as to seem casual to the bandits only yards away. Her job was to say one thing and do another, but here the skill felt more desperate than usual.

"It moved. Just a little jiggle. She's strong, but nobody's _that_ strong."

"It could be holding the guns." August murmured casually, adopting her act; his tone didn't seem convinced, however, and a peek at his expression confirmed her suspicions. Sasha pursed her lips in frustration.

"Then let's ask to see it." She pressed; the man deliberated for a moment, arms crossed in thought, before calling out to the bandit leader in what he likely assumed was a friendly tone.

"You mind if we, uh, take a look? Just to double-check."

The leader shrugged reasonably. "Then let us take another look at the money, if'n ye have yer doubts." _'Here's hoping this doesn't make me look the world's biggest douchebag,'_ Sasha thought as August gestured to the others. Faro gave Nucleus an irritated stare, attempting to keep his hands warm under his pits. Raine crunched her cigarette butt into the ground, her voice barely a hiss.

"What's the hold up?" She asked her boss, scowling when he held up a hand for silence. The bandit leader smiled again.

"Two of mine with ye. Two of yers with me, eh? Make sure nobody gettin' sticky fingers or second thoughts." August shrugged his agreement and walked over to the stack of barrels, Sasha following close behind him. Two of her bandits followed close behind, Faro and a woman Sasha hadn't become acquainted flanking the bandit leader as she picked at the briefcase of money. August observed the barrels with a careful eye. There were six total, decently sized and of a uniform purple with only a hand-shaped smudge distinguishing one from the others.

"The hell is your problem?" They heard Faro drawl. "You done deals with us before. Now you get cold feet?" Sasha gave one of the barrels a poke. It certainly felt heavy. They were finely crafted, suggesting the gang had plucked them off a supply caravan. August lay his hands on the one Nucleus had touched, giving it a gentle shake. He gave Sasha a look.

"Yeah, this feels a little weird..." He began, only to stop when a masked man popped out of the barrel with such swiftness Sasha nearly fell on her ass.

"Nucleus, you _fuck_ , I've been in here for hou-" He began, trailing off as he observed the scene in front of him -- August's livid face. Sasha's slack jaw. Nucleus clutching her head in shock. He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh, uh. Surprise?" August turned around, slowly, his tone dripping with venom.

"That's some _funny_ looking oil you got there, Nucleus." The bandit leader was gesticulating wildly, as if surrounded by flies.

"Oh, for fuck's sa- _shoot 'im_ , ye worthless lump!" The masked bandit reached down and pulled out a shotgun, though he barely had it cocked before Sasha brought the barrel lid crashing down onto his head.

The force of the hit sent the barrel thudding to the ground and rolling perilously near the edge of the crater. The two bandits Nucleus had sent to flank them attempted to grab them each from behind; August elbowed his attacker in the gut, shoving the man hacking and coughing to the ground. Sasha struggled and kicked as the other lifted her into the air, arms wrapped around her neck in an attempt to throttle the wind out of her; she ground her heel into his knee, making him stumble precariously. The moment her feet touched the ground again she dropped her weight, flipping him bodily over her head and sending him screaming into the crater. She whipped around as she heard the cocking of guns behind her. August touched the earpiece tucked into his collar. " _Scov. Brandy_." He hissed. Static replied. Sasha looked to their parked vehicles in the distance -- August's truck was only a few seconds away.

The pair bolted as the bandits fired, bullets raining on the barrels with a murderous music. The small gap between them and potential freedom had become a human obstacle course; one after one, Nucleus' brigands popped out of the earth like moles, chunks of dirt and caked paint coating their forms from head to toe, making them nearly indistinguishable from the landscape. _'Where the **hell** did they come from?!'_ Sasha thought wildly, leg screaming in protest as she cleared the head of a bandit attempting to pull themselves out of a hole they dug. She managed to slide behind the cover of the truck, bullets leaving a jagged pattern in the passenger side's door. With a start of horror she saw Faro's limp body a few feet away, Raine crouched behind one of the bikes and firing desperately.

August rolled into a half-crouch beside her, spitting dirt out of his mouth and reloading his pistol. The con woman cocked her Magnum, risking a glance beneath the car; a cluster of feet were rapidly closing the distance between them. Turning the pistol on its side, she chanced a few shots through the gap and was rewarded with the bodily thuds of multiple bandits tripping into one another. They responded with a few of their own, bullets pattering on the vehicle and splashing dirt into the air like rain. "Don't kill 'im! I need 'im alive." Nucleus called out; Sasha's blood ran cold when she added, "Don't need the girl, though." Her mind worked overtime as it put the pieces of the bizarre situation together. A sharp hiss made the pair curse in unison -- they shot the tires.

The bandit from the barrel jumped in front of them. Sasha yelped and slammed her fist into his face. "Stop _scaring_ me like that, you jackass!" She screamed, her right hook bending his cheap mask with a satisfying _crunch_ and sending the shotgun flying from his hands. Scrabbling for it desperately, she yanked her hand back as it clattered out of the shelter of the truck.

"Where's your gun?!" August shouted.

"Out of bullets!" She yelled back. He paused at that, eyes flicking back and forth in thought, then stuck his arm out into the open. The gunfire stopped abruptly. He snatched the bandit's shotgun in the sudden lull, which picked up again as the bandits _apparently_ realized they could still capture him injured. According to August's relieved scowl, he had reached the same conclusion.

"They know they have us pinned." He growled, cocking the gun in one swift movement. "They're just fucking with us now." The bandit was writhing on the ground, clutching his shattered nose and babbling furiously. He yelped as August's fingers dug into the nape of his neck, pulling him up to meet the business end of his stolen rifle. Sasha crouched carefully as August walked sideways from the car, holding his gun to the bandit in his chokehold -- he was attempting to hold the man hostage.

" _Enough_ of this shit." He shouted. "One more shot..." The rifle ground into the man's cheek, tilting his head painfully to one side.

Gunshots were replaced with mutters, the bandits' heads turning their leader's way for further instruction. Sasha peered through the yellow tint of the truck's window. Nucleus slowly held up one hand for a ceasefire...then shot the hostage right in the chest with a well-aimed shot from her pistol. August jumped back as the man howled in pain, another shot getting him in the eye and cutting him off with a sick abruptness.

"Always hated that fucker." The bandit leader chortled to an answering chorus. August dropped the body in disgust. Nucleus raised her arm at a ninety-degree angle and howled, "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!"

Sasha gaped at August when he dove back behind the truck. "You weren't kidding...!" August's expression mirrored her own.

"I thought it was a _rumor_!" He yelled as a hail of gunfire shattered the windows, raining glass onto their hair. The truck was taking a beating and it was only a matter of time before the joke wore out its welcome.

"I can't do all the work here, you know!" Raine shouted out from behind her bike, whose sagging tires revealed why she hadn't moved from her spot.

"Working on it!" August snapped back. "Where the hell are Scov and Brandy?" The surprised yowl of one of Nucleus' bandits confirmed good aim on Raine's part.

"Not a clue!" She replied, ducking back down to reload. "But that bitch Arrow ditched me on the last good bike. Whether I come out of this alive or dead, I'm going to kick her sorry ass!"

The con woman reached into her boot for her knife. "Getting _real_ tired of resorting to this." She grumbled, looking up to see Faro's body still laying in the dust.

August swore under his breath. "...Run behind me. They're not going to shoot me much. We need to buy time to get under that outcrop over there." Sasha's eyes widened as she followed his line of sight.

"You're shitting me. Their aim is garbage, but they'll clip you right in the head." August jerked away from a bullet that flew too close to his leg.

"You got a better idea?" A cluster of bandits blinked into view around the truck, their camouflaged form strange to the eyes, cackling amongst themselves. She knew it wouldn't have taken long for them to realize they'd run out of bullets and, most importantly, bright ideas. The con woman flung her knife right through the (apparent) eye of a bandit aiming her way, wincing as the last shot he'd ever fire carved an angry line into her cheek. The scene before her flickered and slowed uncertainly, the bandits appearing less like curious outlaws and more like eerie spectres as the sun disappeared and washed the land in gray. August hefted his shotgun, firing in a flash of orange, yelling something that didn't register to the adrenaline coursing through her ears. A bandit burst in a mass of rubble.

' _So this is it. I'm going to die here. Of all places. Of all the fucking places on this shitfest of a planet. The hell was this con for?_ ' She thought vaguely, grabbing a rock and preparing to throw it. ' _Fiona won't even find my body out here._ '

A horn blare made everyone whip around as one -- a motorcycle revved between the bandits and the pair, leaving a wall of dust in their wake. Howls turned to coughs and vague threats, random gunfire blinking in and out of the dust cloud like lightning. The con woman was jerked out of her reverie, the scene before her speeding back up to reality.

"Go! _Go_!" She yelled -- August didn't need to be told twice, sprinting like a bullymong across the sands and into the obscuring blanket. A shadow flailed out of the yellow fog, grasping at the man's arms and attempting to drag him to the ground. Sasha gritted her teeth as she put on a sudden burst of speed, ignoring the agony in her leg and driving the butt of her empty Magnum into the man's temple. August aimed over his shoulder, though Sasha waved at him to stop. "Save your bullets! Just _go!_ "

Screeching tires blended into the cacophony of gunshots and shouting. Scov and Brandy pulled up in front of them, the former's cape flapping wildly in the wind. August coughed and covered his eyes as a swirl of dust surrounded them like a cloak. "Sorry we're late!" Brandy yelled, voice muffled somewhat by the bandana around her mouth and nose. "Arrow went and got us. A scrambler was fuckin' with our communications."

Sasha rubbed blood from her eyes as Scov tossed a spare pistol her way, handing August a revolver with an apologetic smile. Brandy cocked her rifle with a flourish. "I'm going to take down as many as I can 'fore I return to Hollow Point." She gave them a thumbs-up, no doubt noting the concern in their faces. "Don't worry. We'll lead them on a merry chase. Get your asses back 'ome and shoot any who follow. I can't guarantee we'll pick you up, but..."

August's teeth were gritted as he said, "Just _go_. I owe you." He looked at Sasha, eyes squinted against the dust; the breezy car ride felt like it was hundreds of years ago.

The pair revved off into the rapidly clearing distance, bullets sparking at their heels. Sasha and August wasted no time, getting as much space as they could from the pops and snaps of gunfire behind them. Scov had given her a Jakobs, the closest a pistol could get to a semi-automatic while still maintaining a lack of recoil. Her joy was short-lived when she saw there were only a few bullets in the chamber, sand already starting to clog the barrel. She kept it cocked and aimed at the ground as she jogged beside August; he was seething, breath coming in short, surly pants. She swallowed back a joke -- she'd never seen him so angry before.

Hunks of purple and gray rock rose out of the ground in meager hills before them, rounding and lifting the landscape into a natural maze once they got close. They were popular environments for ambushes, filled with hiding spots that could shelter bandits from both the glaring sun and roaming eyes, though the downside was that any designated victim would know better than to wander into an obvious trap -- August's group had given the place a wide berth on their way to Star Landing and the con woman's skin was already starting to crawl with the unknown. A few rakks wheeled overhead.

" _Shit_ , they've found us." Sasha hissed, peering through the Jakobs' sights at two of Nucleus' gang that had disentangled from the fray.

"Well, they made a huge goddamn mistake." August snarled -- she jumped as he fired a shot into the distance. An answering shot clipped the ground before him, causing Sasha to instinctively yank him back.

"Don't waste your ammo!" She whispered. "Just wait 'til they get close." She let go of his arm as he glowered at her, fist clenched in a furious ball. The con woman didn't back down, though, pointing to the outcrop that had begun to surround them. "We can lose them in there." She said, calmly. "They're no doubt going to follow us in..." The mob boss' breathing had begun to slow, realization dawning on his face. Sasha couldn't resist a smirk. "You thinking what I'm thinking, summer boy?"

Fiona had always been the best at hide and seek. Sasha could never quite put her finger on it, but her sister had a bizarre knack for blending into the shadows and finding the perfect hiding space, no matter where they found themselves at any given day; once Sasha had spent a half hour trying to find her, dissolving into a mess of tears when she thought she had been abandoned. " _Come on, come on._ " She remembered her older sister saying. " _You know I'd never ditch you._ " It was hard not to think back to her childhood as she and August tip-toed through the dusty gaps between the boulders, looking about them with a barely disguised agitation. She vowed to get out alive, if only to tell Fiona a story she'd never forget.

August leapt onto a small boulder, hardly making a sound, climbing his way up to a shadowed enclave and peering inside. Sasha kept an eye on the tangled pathway behind them, only to jerk around again at the _squawk_ that pierced the air. A pair of rakks flew out of the hole, screeching their indignation into the sky. Answering calls rang in the distance. The mob boss didn't miss a beat, scrambling into the hole and vanishing into the black. Voices mumbled to her left, growing louder with a damning certainty. She looked from left to right frantically, eventually choosing to duck behind a tall, thin boulder rising out of the earth at an angle -- while she was thin enough, she had to lean on one leg to vanish from view entirely.

The bandits rounded the corner a few moments later, guns held steady for any sudden movement. A stiff breeze wound through the craggy snarl, wracking her body in shivers. She ground her teeth together to keep them from chattering. "Is this Where's Waldo?" One yelled, no doubt for their listening pleasure. "I _love_ that game! 'Specially the part where I shoot Waldo out of the page." They laughed at their own joke, voice bouncing off the rocks in a charmless echo.

"You owe me a new book, fuckface." Their partner growled.

Sasha peered as best she could through the slim gap in-between her rock and a mercifully placed shrub to check on August's hiding location; his blue eyes were glinting in the shadow as the pair shuffled and poked around in the small space. He slowly shook his head, holding up a careful hand for her patience. The con woman nodded -- they had to coordinate their efforts perfectly. While the close quarters of the rocks made ideal shelter, the downside was that it was a veritible echo chamber, putting them all at risk for a dangerous ricochet if their shots were anything _but_ perfect. It was too much to hope the bandits would simply move on, one with a mask honing in on a footprint almost too bare to notice in the hard sand.

Her leg was beginning to tremble from the effort of bearing all her weight. The masked bandit knelt into the sand, prodding the scuffed pattern idly. "I just don't think messing with August is smart, you know? Guy's got connections to Va-" They had began, studying the indentation in the ground, only to be cut off by their mate.

"They got fucked over real good a few months back." The maskless one replied, looking from side to side for further clues. "There wouldn't be a better time to do it. Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Their partner stood up, pacing back and forth in deliberation.

"I guess...I mean, Nucleus always seemed too big for her britches, but if this actually pans out she _will_ be. ...Think the girl will taste good, at least?" He asked after a pause.

Sasha grimaced. ' _Note to self...tell August not to do deals with anybody even **remotely** capable of being a cannibal._ ' She thought, wanting nothing more than to shift to her bad leg -- even aggravating her wound seemed preferable to the unsteady shaking that was beginning to rack her entire body. "Wait...look, is that blood?" The maskless bandit was slowly stalking after something she couldn't see, knees bent carefully. The con woman gripped her gun tightly, realizing with a start she hadn't noticed the blood coursing down her leg at all. The masked bandit kicked at a few drops of blood, leading to her location like a trail of breadcrumbs.

A shriek broke the silence -- the rakks had returned, heading right back to the little enclave and flapping wildly at the intruder still getting comfortable in their nesting area. "The hell...?" The masked bandit muttered, raising their rifle cautiously. Sasha cocked her pistol, the sound blissfully muffled in the ruckus. She had to make this count. Balancing precariously on her good leg, she slowly pushed the nozzle through the gap and shot the masked bandit in the back of the head. The rakks bolted into the air instinctively. The maskless bandit reacted with an impressive swiftness, diving out of the way of her next shot. It bounced off the boulder behind them, mercifully vanishing somewhere into the rock maze.

"What the...!" They snarled, out-of-view. ' _Great. He caught on._ ' The con woman thought sourly, risking another glance August's way -- one rakk was circling the hole again, diving in to screech angrily into the dark space. She stumbled backwards as the other swooped and howled around her odd hiding spot, leathery wings beating against the open gaps and obscuring her vision. Unless Nucleus had hired a veritable clown car of morons, the lone bandit would have long since figured out where his quarry was holed up. A shot pinging into the dirt at her feet confirmed her suspicions.

" _Found you!_ " Nucleus' bandit yelled furiously from behind a boulder, only to bolt when the rakk followed their shot. The situation was dissolving into a precarious shitshow and fast; she knew she couldn't stay behind the odd boulder anymore, landing on her bad leg with a grimace and running into the open space. She nearly collided with the maskless bandit, who was flailing and cursing and firing spontaneously into the air, attempting as best they could to clip the bird trying to pull their head from their shoulders. Whether it was stupidity or desperation that moved them out into the open, Sasha couldn't tell -- what she could, though, was that it was the worst mistake they'd ever made.

" _Hrrk_!" They gagged as they were lifted off the ground. August had jumped out of the hole in the commotion, face coated in angry red scratches from where the rakks had attempted to crawl in. Sasha lowered her pistol, carefully, watching as he held the bandit in the air by his neck as if he we weighed nothing, revolver shoved into his mouth.

"You like to eat people, huh?" He hissed into their face. "Ever tried lead?"

A splash of red and Nucleus's goon fell smoking to the ground. The rakks shrieked faintly, circling overhead against the growing sun like a pair of malicious guardian angels. "I'm out, okay? I'm _out_!" August yelled at the sky, wiping blood from his face. "Now _piss off_!"

Sasha limped up behind him. The bandit twitched faintly, blood already starting to curdle in the cold. "That one-liner was way better than they deserved."

He must have heard the weariness in her voice, turning around and looking her over. "Ah, shit. Your leg..." Sasha followed his gaze down to where red was seeping down her shin.

"God. _Really_? Even the stitches?" The con woman groaned, dragging a hand across her face. "I need a fucking drink."

The mob boss sighed his agreement and knelt down, rummaging through the corpse's pockets for loot. They were almost entirely bare, save for a few bullets and what looked like a metal spork. "...You and me both."

The two sat down in the shadow of the rocks, neither quite ready to give up their temporary encampment. Her bandage had slipped off in the fighting, the stitches fully reopened and turning half of her leggings into a dark, shiny brown. She shrugged off her sweater and rolled the pant leg upward, wincing as it clung wetly to the skin -- it was still cold as shit, but she knew from experience blood loss was _infinitely_ worse. ' _Looks like you're destined to be a blood sponge._ ' Sasha thought wearily as she wrapped her sweater around the wound. While it was tempting to wash the cut with water, it was best to conserve her canteen until they were in the clear. She only paused in her work when she felt something warm and heavy drape around her shoulders; she looked up at August rubbing his bare arms and scanning the horizon, his tanned jacket on her back.

"Hey, you don't have to do that..." She started.

"You're still injured." August muttered, shielding his eyes as the sun peeked out of the bundle of clouds above. "You don't need to be freezing, too." Sasha bit her lip as she slid her arms through the sleeves and bundled the collar beneath her chin; his body heat clung pleasantly to the fabric. While the sun was signaling the start of the afternoon, they were stuck without transportation well away from Hollow Point. It would be at least a few hours until they got back, if they maintained the steady jog that was clearly off-limits. He attempted to contact the others again, static blurting out of his collar impishly.

"Well, time to get back to Hollow Point before night hits," August sighed. "...before we freeze to death."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters get longer and longer with each update.
> 
> I can't help it. I adore these two.


	6. Sonnata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha meets her mark for the first time when she applies at the Purple Skag, beginning her new life for a new life.

"I'm August. I run this joint."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Sasha. I, well...am looking for work."

The day had been on her side. She liked the way the late morning sun would play off her features, giving her brown skin a glow that made many a man and woman look twice. Part of her role as a sharp yet overambitious ingenue was to _look_ the part, after all, and she had made sure to dedicate hours choosing an outfit that was both practical and stylish; a long green top with brown leggings kept her cute without sacrificing flexibility, her locs held back in a loose ponytail with one of her old headbands. First impressions went a long way in the business and her earlier days had her unintentionally squandering good marks with minor and seemingly negligible slip-ups -- Fiona still hadn't let go of what had become known as the 'Pantaloon Incident'.

She had visited the Purple Skag only once before, grabbing a quick drink earlier that week before her usual run with her sister. August had been busy with another customer, leaving her to superficially relax on the far end of the bar and glean whatever information she could in the short timespan. It was a quaint enough little space, the purple glow contrasting nicely with brown wood and twinkling light strings, but she couldn't parse apart for the _life_ of her the idea that went behind the skag statue with the top hat. Was it a mascot? An in-joke? Sasha spent a good minute wondering if she should ask. She hadn't missed her mark's lingering glances her way, nor how he ran a self-conscious hand through his hair before putting away the customers' glasses and walking up to her.

"I'm guessing that happens a lot?" She had asked instead, pointing to the sign on her right: _'The bartender does not accept presents as tender!'_.

August had rolled his eyes, idly rubbing one of the shot glasses clean with a rag. "You don't know the _half_ of it. Someone tried to bribe me with a pair of shoes once. They weren't even my size."

Sasha had laughed. "Well, there goes plan A." He had raised an eyebrow at her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The lights played off his skin curiously, carving out his angular cheekbones with a subdued violet.

"So, what can I get you?" He had asked, leaning forward on the counter; the con woman remembered vividly the curious glint in his eyes, the way his half-smile made her heart skip a beat.

 _'About time I got a cute one. Hopefully this'll make me forget the dance I put on for Knickerblockers.'_ She thought as she double-checked her ankleboots for smudges, adjusting the bright socks she'd snagged off a distracted vendor. They were her favorite color, a somehow flashy yet subdued burnt orange that contrasted nicely with the rest of her outfit. She hoped he would like it as she stood on the steps leading up to the bar. The Purple Skag had only just opened, already busy in spite of the early time of day -- it wasn't uncommon for workers in Hollow Point to get a good buzz before heading off to their nine-to-five, the cave town's culture blending night into day due to its unusual relationship with the sun. According to August's intrigued gaze, she was on the right track.

"Well, Sasha. You're in luck." He said, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. His relaxed tone made it clear he recognized her. "I'm looking for someone to help keep the bar running. My last worker didn't last long."

A gunshot blared in poor imitation of a punchline. A patron bolted from behind the Purple Skag, screaming obscenities so slurred and unintelligible one could be forgiven for confusing them for an actual skag. August appeared unbothered.

"They didn't _stay_ around long, is what I meant. This place is a little..."

The offending party stumbled between them, a hefty man in overalls hot on their heels. "Er, sorry, August. 'Nother dine and ditcher. I'll get 'im!" Sasha held up her hands in mock shock, though she was feeling more than a little of the real thing; blood had been streaming down the man's face from what looked like a clumsy slice with a knife, his nose hanging on by the merest shred of skin. A few drops had even stained her leggings, she noted with disgust.

"...wild." He finished. "Want to take a look inside?"

Sasha nodded and followed him into the bar. On the bright side, she'd now have the luxury of trailing a mark that actually knew how to handle himself; lying and weaseling her way into someone's life was difficult enough without being their babysitter. She couldn't help but think to earlier that morning.

_"You know how to get sweet on them, Sasha. You're way better at acting than I am." Fiona adjusted her hat as best she could in the grubby mirror. Sasha put on her favorite fang earrings, turning this way and that to catch whatever gleam she could. Fussing about in the bathroom was a morning ritual of sorts for the sisters, a shared good-luck charm they could always count on to set the tone of the day._

_"Ha, I can't rebuke that." Sasha replied as she dug around for her lip gloss. "A guy so much as looks at you funny and you're ready to verbally eviscerate him."_

_"What, you didn't want to show up that sleazy ass that kept yelling at us from the rooftops?" Fiona asked, twisting her face in a rather impressive imitation of the shitty drunk. "'Oi, loves, come give yer ol' pickle a jar, if'n ye catch me drift, eh?'"_

_Sasha laughed so hard she couldn't keep her hand steady. "Oh, no...I definitely did. That's a good impression, though. You could put him out of business."_

_They continued to linger in front of the mirror, struggling in unison with the combination of eagerness and dread that always accompanied a con. The nature of the business meant that, no matter how familiar one became with the tenuous landscape of facades and falsehoods, anxiety followed like a vulture from afar. "You going to try to sway the bar owner today?" Fiona asked, tugging at her collar._

_She could sense the concern behind her sister's light tone -- Fiona knew how much she hated being a honey trap, the sweet or sexy lure for marks too horny or too stupid to know better. While it was a useful element for their more elaborate missions, the con woman was having a progressively harder time ignoring its wear and tear. Trust, as much as it would be seen as ironic by an outsider, was one of the most important elements of a con's life. It was vital **because** of its rarity, treasured **because** of its sincerity. Necessary to keep from losing one's mind and becoming yet another slobbering creature on Pandora. Sasha was good at lying -- pricking and pulling apart at a person's weaknesses until they practically melted into her hands -- only because she had to be. Guilt clung to her subconscious like mold, growing thicker and more suffocating with every new heart she had to break._

_Pickpocketing was impersonal. Schmoozing stall owners and haggling travelers was nice and succinct. Money and items could be replaced. Trust, on the other hand, was more fragile than glass. She had felt its cracks in the rough and tumble of her precarious childhood. When she woke up one day to find out her mother vanished. Hypocrisy, she learned, made a mean bedfellow._

_She had no desire to make her sister worry further. Not when she had her own demons to wrestle. Sasha batted her lashes at her reflection; at least she could look good in the process. Pandora was all about the small comforts._

_"Like Felix said, depends on how he swings." She responded. "As well as whether or not I can get away with it. Though I don't know how anybody could resist the Sashay." Fiona chuckled as she opened the bathroom door. "The Sashay?"_

_Sasha winked at her._

"So, what do you do?" August asked.

They'd sat down in a corner of the bar. A surreptitious glance told her there was good reason he was hiring -- the place was a fucking _sty_. While the middle of the room had been reasonable enough, certainly not without its own (peculiar) decorative charm, the dust and gunk that gathered up in the corners was enough to make her want to start cleaning for free. The man before her continued the contrast, the spitting image of practicality bickering with identity -- his yellow hair was as pointed as his goatee, piercings jutting from his nose and ears. Calloused hands and worn jeans showed he was no stranger to hard labor. While he was a little pale for her tastes, she couldn't deny he had a great figure.

It was his eyes, though, that she focused on the most. They were, without a doubt, the most important element in figuring a mark out. Sasha had been given many a master class on the tricky art of deciphering a person's unique windows -- a slight dilation of the pupils or flick of the brow could tell her a million things, no doubt why most bandits hid half or most of their faces at a time. Even the patrons here, with the _'No Face, No Service'_ sign above the Purple Skag's front door, had their odd assortment of high collars and thick shades as a workaround. She was careful to keep her gaze level as she spoke, even as his unwavering stare was beginning to make her itch.

"My family and I work in the trade business. We deliver, scavenge, run odd jobs. A little slapdash, but it keeps our options open." Sasha responded, crossing her legs and leaning back in the chair.

August folded his hands beneath his chin. "You ever work at a bar?" Straight to the point.

She laughed. "No, but I love to drink. That's a start, right?"

August shrugged amicably. "As long as it's not on the job. You don't have to worry about making drinks yet, anyway. An extra hand to help with cleaning and handling money will help for now." A raucous voice broke through their talk; a dark-haired man with the strangest beard Sasha had ever seen was waving their way a few tables over.

"Oi, August, you trainin' another bartender? She's a cute 'un!"

August nodded absently, not taking his eyes off her. "She is. Drink your happy juice, José."

"Where do you live?" He continued, leaning forward a little.

Sasha resisted the temptation to raise her eyebrows. _'Let's not get carried away, mister mob boss'_. "Hollow Point." She answered, simply. It was an unsatisfactory answer and intentionally so. He held up a hand and smiled, though this olive branch warred with the suspicious glint in his eyes. She was beginning to wonder if the man even blinked.

"Hey. I'm not asking for your life story...I just need to _know_ you're from here." He assured. Sasha shrugged, maintaining his air.

"I live near the Twin Bladders crossroads in Hollow Point?"

August nodded. "Good enough...though if we're to work together, I'll eventually need a more specific answer than that."

It was a much appreciated compromise. The con woman had a right to be cautious, with Hollow Point's population teetering precariously in the middle of 'too small to be easily forgotten' and 'a little too big to be easily remembered '. For as long as she lived in this turd of a town, a positive (or, worse, negative) reputation was off-limits. At the best of times. It was one of the major reasons Felix tried to keep a low profile and pull cons _outside_ of the town, though that still didn't stop Fiona's face from being put on every other wanted poster in the past months. Sasha wasn't about to give them more to worry about, so she inwardly hoped he wouldn't press the subject and find out they lived _blocks_ away from the location. His pale eyes looked her up and down.

"Can you defend yourself?" He said after a pause.

Relief relaxed her shoulders. Finally, a topic she _wanted_ to discuss. She pulled out her pistol. "Sure. I use a Mag-"

Sasha stopped and blinked at the gun barrel inches from her face.

"... _num_."

The bar had gone dead quiet, the only sound the sputtering radio near the door. Some of the patrons were looking at them, their hands on their own guns, knives and any glass bottles within arm's reach. ' _Good one, Sasha_ '. She thought wryly.

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-" She started hastily. August slowly holstered his pistol, smile not reaching his eyes.

"Warn me next time, huh? A simple 'yes' would have worked." José gave her a drunken thumbs-up over his shoulder. She couldn't tell if she was disappointed at her slip-up or the fact she lost a great opportunity to talk about her favorite gun models.

He continued detailing the ins and outs of the establishment, after assuring the bar patrons that the problem had passed. The con woman jotted a few notes into her mental notebook. ' _Not just distrusting -- paranoid_.' She mused. _'...Okay, very paranoid. Reasonable, though. Seems pretty privy to bullshit. He runs an undercover operation here, so I guess he has to constantly play the bullshit card himself.'_ August stroked his chin, looking up at some vague spot in the ceiling as he ran low on details.

"I _would_ introduce you to the other workers, but...there aren't any. Besides Tector." He turned around suddenly, leaning against the back of his chair and barking, " _Tector_!"

The man in overalls from earlier slammed open the front door, looking around wildly. "Wha-? What is it, boss?!"

August gestured her way. "Say hi."

The man gaped at her for a moment before doing a half-bow that didn't quite agree with his stature; he was the size of a small truck, with ears so big and so round she wasn't quite sure if they were real or not. Sasha smiled and gave him a friendly wave, holding back a laugh at his rather silly reaction. She was used to the effect she had on people.

"This is Tector." August repeated. "He's the bouncer, so you'll have to direct any and all unsavory customers his way. He'll take care of them."

The man laughed heartily. "That I will, miss. Last time a drunk regular tried to come at me I tossed 'im onto the roof." Sasha crinkled her brow. August nodded.

"It's true. Kept him up there 'til he learned his lesson."

It was a good sign they were trying to make her feel comfortable. The con woman had a bevy of odd jobs to her name ever since she was old enough to be considered _just_ outside the realm of child labor, maintaining them for a few weeks at the most in-between cons -- it was going to be interesting getting used to a single establishment, much less an actual paycheck. Sasha followed August behind the counter and up the stairs, learning where the cleaning supplies were held and the backdoors in case of emergencies ("Like that guy from earlier?" She asked. "Nah, that was business as usual." He snorted.). The Skag was a fairly decent size, larger than it appeared from the outside, with a bathroom and an upstairs attic rounding out its set-up. Considering his meager workforce, she found it impressive in hindsight the place was as clean as it was. He showed her the cash register last -- it was under lock and key, with a combination he made sure to complete quickly.

The register had the bare minimum amount of money to function, not enough to justify breaking into a bar filled with armed patrons and workers alike. She couldn't help but notice a switchblade in one of the slots. "I'll have you clean the first week or two." August said. "Hate to be so pessimistic, but I've seen people try to come in, take the money and go. Had to clip this one dickhead trying to drag the register and half the counter with him across the sands." Sasha refrained from asking _where_ he had clipped the thief and responded, matter-of-factly,

"Well, it's not easy keeping a business afloat in this hellhole. That you've managed at all is pretty impressive." He glanced sideways at her -- her compliment was obvious, but seemed appreciated.

A customer walked up to the bar, wrapped in what seemed like endless layers and with a massive pack around their shoulders. August muttered something under his breath and began to close the register, only to curse as it refused to shut. "Cheap piece of shi-" He started, nodding briefly to the visitor before kneeling and peering beneath the counter. Sasha leaned on the countertop and put on her most charming grin.

' _Well. Time to put on the second show of the day_ '.

"What can I do for you?"

They removed their headwraps, revealing smooth dark skin and wild make-up. The woman rubbed the day's grime from her eyes, blinking at Sasha with what appeared to be genuine curiosity. "New bartender, huh? Can she make better drinks than the last one?" August peered over the counter, eyebrows raised at the slight. Sasha interjected before he could speak.

"Depends. You want to get a nice buzz or you want to get knocked on your ass?" While she didn't see August giving her a peeved look, she most certainly _felt_ it.

The woman sat down, setting aside her pack and pulling back her hood. "Knock me _out_. Had to escort a group of Hyperion...'settlers'...", she finger-quoted with a flourish, "...through the wastelands. We lost an entire hour doubling back around when it turned out they were reading the map backwards. I swear they can't even wipe their asses without help." Sasha was digging through the cupboards for supplies -- she was as hard a drinker as the average Pandoran, though with a taste she'd _like_ to consider on the refined side. A few moments' searching revealed generic rum and vodka, as well as soda water and a few actual brands. Now that was something. So many bars had no choice but to cobble together their own concoction of fermented _whatever_ due to the precarious nature of manufacturing in many parts of Pandora. Never mind actually transporting said goods and getting them to a business in one piece.

"Tell me about it." Sasha laughed. She never turned down an opportunity to take a few potshots at Hyperion.

"You'd think they could afford some practical training skills, at least." The bandit woman said with a derisive cackle, lighting a cigarette.

"Nah, they're too busy being rich. Sitting on piles of money takes a _lot_ out of you." Sasha responded, getting another hard laugh out of the woman. Thanking the stars her first customer was of the agreeable sort, she began measuring her drink. An inch of vodka, an inch of orange and lime, a dash of rum. She and Fiona were frequently too broke to afford the really spectacular drinks, defaulting to cans and bottles wherever they could find them and storing them exclusively for special occasions. Sasha topped the drink off with soda water, covering it in a cap and giving it a hard shake. She'd save the fancy juggling for another time.

"Here you go. Knock yourself out." Sasha said as she set the drink on the table, the woman immediately taking a hard swig. The con woman's stomach tightened as she scrunched up her face.

"Little sweet for my tastes...but..." She blinked a few times, then offered her a crooked smile as the alcohol kicked in. " _Ahhh_...that's the stuff. You're all right, girl." Sasha finally risked a peek at August's expression. _Extremely_ peeved.

"You sure?" He asked the patron, a noble attempt at a smile on his face as he stood back up. "If you don't like it I can always make you another one." The woman waved him away, now drawn into the bar's atmosphere with a drink in her hand.

"Give her a break. I'm just here to get drunk." She tossed a bill onto the counter, what seemed to be a friend of hers strolling into the bar and waving her over.

Sasha offered August the woman's money. He took it, slowly, and entered the password into the now-working register. ' _I really hope I didn't just flush our con down the crapper_.' She thought, keeping a hesitant smile on her lips even to the man's turned back. August was quiet for a few moments as he shuffled through the bills. "I suppose..." He started. "...there are _worse_ things than you being eager to do your job. Don't make a habit of jumping the gun, though." He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. "...In more ways than one." The con woman allowed herself a moment of relief -- it was a roundabout way of putting it, but she nailed it.

The con was a-go.

She held out her hand to shake when he closed the register again. The man paused and looked at it. "It'll be nice working with you, August." She said, beaming up at him. It was a curiously held instant as he stared down at her, chewing on his lip for a brief moment before returning her gesture. His grip was very firm...and warm.

"I think it will." He answered, a touch thoughtfully. A thrill of excitement ran through Sasha as she imagined Fiona and Felix's reaction to her successful performance -- her sister would no doubt ask for details, her father waiting to hone in on a mishap that 'slipped' Sasha's mind. The front door interrupted her thoughts with a characteristic creak, a small group of people squeezing through with an accompanying chatter. August looked sideways at her, one brow quirked in what she was learning was one of his many tics. "You ready to try that sixty more times?"

Sasha rolled up her sleeves and grinned. "Let's go, happy hour."

It was a grueling eight hours, breaks offered rarely as Hollow Point's weekend culture muscled the day away with a vengeance. Customers gravitated to the bar seats like flies to shit, barking out their orders to whomever seemed to be in ear shot and caring little about where they placed their backpacks or feet. Tables filled in a matter of seconds and the radio struggled valiantly to break through the growing hubbub. August managed to keep the worst of the bunch off her case as she began her shift in true, taking their orders with an easy smile and a nod, but she still had to contend with a variety of colorful characters, such as an apparent regular missing half his teeth and speaking in what seemed like tongues.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" She had asked with a strained smile as he pushed his way to one of the few available bar seats, nearby customers casting sour glances.

"Aam gonnae need a stit a body an' fest, ah jist got aff a a bampot shift the-day." He prattled. ' _Oh dear god_.' She thought, smile frozen in place -- she couldn't resist glancing August's way, her only reward his back all away across the room in some conversation with a couple.

"Dae ye hae th' Purple Twiste ur th' Joyful Ringin' oan hain? I'll tak' baith." The man continued, giving her a wink. It was an accent the young woman rarely came in contact with, even during her travels away from the Rust Common East's main roads. Customers began to wave her way, ever impatient for their escapism. While she wasn't one to cave to pressure, she wasn't particularly keen on giving August second thoughts about hiring her on the spot, either. Snatching a cup and putting on her most cocky veneer, she invented a drink.

"The Jayful Dringin', huh?" She enunciated carefully, attempting his brogue to the best of her ability. "That's _nothing_. This is the Amazing Aegis. It'll make your head spin, but _only_ if you think you can take it." She wagged her finger for emphasis. The man was so delighted he forgot his original order, requesting three as he waved a friend over. Fiona would have been proud. August, well...hopefully the patron wouldn't remember anything by the end of the day.

Near the end of her impromptu shift of mixing drinks and wiping tables a customer attempted to crawl over the bar and kiss her, drunk on a whopping seven shots and a beer. While her instinct was to punch him so hard their unborn children would get a black eye, she was ever keen on blending into the drudgery of her new job. "Tector!" She called over the man's head. "I could use a hand!" The customer went from schmoozing to yelping as they were hefted bodily into the air, carried outside like a disobedient child, eliciting belly laughs from the client base.

"Good on ya. He was starting to look bored." August remarked as he walked behind the counter and washed his hands in the sink. The man was light on his feet, shifting from server to bartender to faceless cleaner imperceptibly -- he was an effortless one-man show, clearly having been for quite some time. She realized in-between orders that she never actually knew when the Purple Skag first opened up, only that it had cropped up out of nowhere and became an inexorable part of the tangle of Hollow Point's culture nearly overnight. The con woman made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"A toast, to the new barmaid!" The woman from before called over the roaring din, lifting her mug up in a toast. Clinks and splashes soon followed as her peers joined in the alcoholic compliment. Sasha laughed and held up one of the empty mugs she was shining behind the counter in response. Her shift was beginning to wind to a close and the air was shifting to something resembling good-natured, beer and vodka working its magic even in the most sour-faced of patrons. A chorus began to kick up as someone started a song, others joining in with off-key contributions and rhythmic banging on the tables. It was a popular bar ditty, supposedly originating at the Fire Tavern when a (now fired) bartender got into a slugfest with a regular over change.

_Shut up, shut up_

_For Slappy's sake, just shut up_

_Where's the change_

_Where's the tab_

_Let me bill you in_

_You silly little shit_

_Shut up, shut up_

_For Slappy's sake, just shut up_

_And give me my money already_

August leaned against the far wall in the happy lull, wash rag tossed over one shoulder and tapping his heel against the floorboards in tune to the melody. The con woman clapped her hands and lent her voice, though she could barely make out her vocals in the cacophony. Through the clinking bottles and cheery howls, an intrusive thought weaseled its way into her mind, translating the jolly moment into something more somber. ' _My voice is often drowned out, isn't it?_ ' The thoughts whispered. ' _Always another reason to keep secrets and huddle myself away. I blend in and become a part of the muck_.' It was a prevalent fear that had maintained a steady distance behind her ever since she was a teenager, the dread that she could lose her identity in a veritable sea of personas and lies. Like a parasite it would crop up when she wanted it least, threatening to suck away her good mood and leave as soon as it came. She pushed it away as she always did, the security of her scavenger life with her sister and father numbing the thought's bite.

All good things had to come to an end. One by one, customers began to pick themselves back up, the scrape of chairs and scuffle of feet a rather satisfying music to Sasha's tired ears. They drifted out the door like ghosts, distracted and melancholy, cool breezes puffing intermittently into the cloister of thick air. The con woman was pleasantly surprised to see the tip jar full to bursting, barely resisting the urge to snatch it on sight.

Sasha took a moment in-between picking up broken glass to mop her forehead with the back of her sleeve, the majority of the rush having now milled out the door (with the stragglers gently encouraged by Tector to get a move on). August was sitting down on a spare bar stool and counting the till, his spiked hair distinctly more mussed than it was when she first walked in. ' _Guess the heat can get even him after a while_.' She mused as she mopped up a spill in the far corner and tossed a lost shirt into the box behind the counter; the light object made a difficult throw, nearly clipping August in the head as he hunched over the register crunching numbers. He gave her a tired and moody glance, causing her to bring up her hands apologetically.

"Sorry, that was pretty bad." To her surprise he shook his head, smiling crookedly.

"You can work on your aim out back. Unclaimed clothing is burned at the end of the day."

There was a strangely therapeutic quality to resting her aching legs behind the bar and tossing forgotten clothing articles into what August called the 'Burn Bin'. Moths were beginning to beat against the streetlamps, evening creeping into the cave with cautious steps. "You sure I can't have this? It's so cute." She asked her new boss, holding up a white jacket with a high-collar -- it wasn't her style, but Fiona was a huge fan of the cut. The bandit was leaning against the wall, tossing filthy sock after filthy sock into the bin and shading his eyes whenever they burst into flames.

"Not a chance." He answered, pulling out a pair of shoes and flipping them into the barrel. "You _want_ lice?" Sasha sighed and crumpled it as best she could, doing her finest impression of a basketball star's winning shot. He gave her a thumbs up.

The urge to put on one of her classic charming smiles and flutter her eyes his way grew stronger and stronger as the day came to a close. The more she resisted, the more an infuriating knot built in her stomach. Putting on a flirty act always made her sick -- she hated having to put a damper on who she was, dumbing herself down to keep someone chummy or making up a lie she couldn't even appreciate on a surface level. She had little doubt _that_ would ever change. But...he was better than she expected. Savvy and hard-working. Good company, if a little guarded. ' _Don't get too starry-eyed, Sasha_.' Her subconscious reminded her as she tossed the last of the day's garbage into the barrel. ' _He's a mob boss. One you're **using**. The day he finds out you've been ripping him off you'll be lucky to get away in one piece_.'

"How does part-time sound for now?" August asked as he locked the back door. Sasha stretched, sighing as the cool breeze of the night gave her a rare tickle.

"Sounds good. Will all my shifts be this long?" The bandit shrugged on a jacket, running another hand through his hair as he double-checked something she couldn't see. Even exhausted his low-lidded gaze was piercing, never seeming to waver in its scrutiny.

"Depends." He tossed her something small; she caught it one-handed, peering at it in the dim light. "Key to the back. Don't lose it. I don't want to waste money on a spare." He said as he made his way down the stairs and headed down the street. She waved goodbye to Tector, maintaining August's pace side-by-side.

"You did great today." He said after a few moment's silence. The streets were a little more bare than normal, everyone no doubt having gotten off work and made their way to their preferred establishments in a hurry. Someone waved at August from across the street, which he returned casually.

"Thanks. I'm glad." Sasha responded.

"Honestly, I'm not too mad about you, uh...jumping the gun." He said, a touch carefully. "Just not used to anyone else taking charge. Tector will _still_ ask me before throwing out someone pissing on the walls or something."

Sasha gave him a smirk. "I _definitely_ won't second-guess that." The mob boss nodded his approval, glancing sideways through his collar. As much as she tried not to stare him down overmuch, it was difficult not to get drawn in -- the man had some of the most expressive eyes she'd ever seen, always narrowing and focusing on some minor or major detail. Every time he looked at her, even for a moment, her skin would prickle curiously.

"...You got something on your face."

The con woman paused and instinctively reached up to poke her cheek. He stopped at the crosswalk in front of them, lights bouncing red off his skin.

"No, the other side." Sasha slapped both hands on her face, then, raising her eyebrows at him for further instruction.

"Hot or cold?"

The man gaped at her for a moment, suddenly barking a laugh. " _Freezing_. It's on your forehead." Sasha frowned and rubbed her forehead, looking at the faint smudge of dirt that had made its way there sometime during her shift.

"Then why didn't you say forehead?"

August shrugged. "It's part of your face, isn't it?" Sasha shook her head, resisting the urge to look in the nearest puddle for further imperfections.

"Remind me _never_ to play Marco Polo with you." The man laughed again, softer this time. His breath was beginning to puff in the encroaching cold, cheeks dusted with a gentle pink.

' _He's got a really cute laugh_.'

He continued to walk a few blocks with her, maintaining weary but pleasant small talk. She found out more about the regulars of the bar, such as a mechanic couple that lived on the south side of the cave and did paint jobs that apparently doubled as scratch-and-sniff stickers. While she had to skip a few streets to maintain her earlier lie, Sasha found herself enjoying the walk. She just managed to keep a note of disappointment out of her voice when their routes split. The already dark cave was getting dimmer by the moment, the yawning openings in the distance a lazy evening orange. "I'll see you tomorrow, Autumn." She said while stifling a yawn. "Thanks again for hiring me. If half of my shifts are that exciting I've got a lot to look forward to." He didn't respond. It was a good few seconds before she realized what his raised brows were referencing. "Oh." She said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "God. _August_." Sasha knew she must be tired if she slipped up on rule number one of the Create A Mark handbook: remember their _fucking_ name.

The deep horn of Hollow Point's lone train system called out into the beckoning gloom. August waved farewell as he crossed the street ("See you, Blasha."), ignoring a drunk's attempted approach. It was another few blocks for her walk, doing the familiar winding and blending-in that characterized Hollow Point's wealth of after-hours street violence. She was endlessly thankful there were few people to run into -- even the stray kids that normally clustered near Hollow Venue were more occupied playing makeshift music on garbage can lids than throwing rocks at passerbys. The con woman barely managed a greeting to Felix and Fiona as she entered the caravan, talking at the wheel about their day, before she slumped onto the couch and dozed off. She hardly remembered one of them putting a blanket on her.

Her dreams were a cluster of songs and textures. She worked at a bar where everybody's faces switched back and forth between people she had loved and people she had forgotten. The counter never seemed to stay clean, no matter how hard she scrubbed, becoming covered with broken glass every time she turned around and back again. August's voiced filtered in and out of the old radio in the corner, smooth and low, a song with no melody. Clock hands twitched backwards with every dream minute; the harder she worked, the more they reneged, pulling her further away from the end of the shift.

The con woman had put on more personas than she could count. She had been an ex-Hyperion overseer once. A wandering artist. A dancer. Twice. Her role as August's part-time bartender was the first that was closest to herself, the _last_ mission she would ever have to do before getting the life she always wanted: one off of Pandora.

It was weeks before she realized that was her first, and biggest, mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updates have been a little erratic, but this chapter marks an official schedule: a new post every Monday!
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy your (now) regularly scheduled build-up porn.


	7. Awash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha and August have escaped Nucleus' bandits, only to contend with their growing feelings for one another.

"...Someone sold me out."

It wasn't easy to lay low in flat desert, but they had gone far enough toward the direction of Hollow Point to take advantage of the gradual incline of rocky outcrops. Star Landing and its chaos slowly vanished behind them, hardly more than a purple smudge in the distance after a few hours' hard walking, leaving them well and truly alone. With the sun inching toward its most miserable peak in the sky they decided to take refuge in the shade of what could have been a functioning trailer at one point, now sticking halfway out of the ground in an impressive imitation of a tree. A minutes' digging through its insides revealed a handful of bullet shells, an empty jug and a skeleton filled with bags of sand. There were only so many questions one could ask on Pandora.

A lone rakk circled above, blinking in and out of view as it passed beneath the sun.

"Who do you think?" The con woman asked, picking up a pair of dusty pants and shaking it; the crumpled up remnants of an old magazine fell to her feet, as well as a few coins, the latter of which she pocketed surreptitiously.

August curled his lip. "Too many to name." Feigning ignorance to his station wasn't particularly hard for the woman to do, not when she was genuinely interested in these violent peeks into his lifestyle.

Sasha sat down in the shade, leaning to one side as best she could off her leg; the bleeding had slowed, the impromptu wrap job she finished hours ago staunching it nicely, but she was starting to feel the sluggish after-effects of a blood loss high. The pair had only three bullets between them after the skirmish, with still a few hours' walk taunting them in the form of near-blinding sunlight. They'd agreed, grudgingly, to wait for the cooler part of day -- it was a risky move, as they both were well-versed in the freezing temperatures Pandoran nighttime was infamous for, but it was either that or heatstroke. Sasha glanced at August's arms. Sunburn, too.

A pack of skags had trailed after them ever since they left their hiding spot, too small and few in number to pose much of a threat. Traveling across the sands with her family for years had helped Sasha build a mental repository on these creatures' behavior, everything from their breeding patterns to their visual moods, and their low heads and constant panting suggested they weren't particularly aggressive. So she kept them in the corner of her eye every now and again, even as her attention was beginning to drift.

With little but heat and hunger to pass the time, her mind wandered into the familiar territory of death. She, like the majority of natural-born Pandorans, thought about her untimely demise as easily as one would think about breakfast. The con woman had always imagined it would be at the business end of someone's rifle (and if they knew what was good for them, it'd be a quality model), though she _had_ once considered a rather gruesome spectacle in the middle of a kraggon pit. It was certainly more enjoyable to discuss the million and a half ways one could meet their end while sharing a drink with good company -- when her Magnum ran out of bullets and Nucleus' bandits swarmed them like scavengers, all she could actually think about was her sister. The memory chilled her, nestling in the back of her mind and refusing to budge.

"I can't believe I was complaining about the cold earlier." She thought out loud, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"I can't believe that all went to shit." August growled.

The man had been leaning on his knees, frozen in one long, poisonous stare at the sands; the scratches on his face were less swollen but looked no less painful, a particularly large cut digging into his browline and caking blood into his hair. His transmitter had remained woefully defunct in spite of his (and her) repeated fiddling -- whatever Nucleus' bandits had done, it fucked with their communication _good_. Unlike their quiet talks during the bar's after hours, he was in little mood to share whatever was on his mind now -- the man seemed to struggle with some internal battle that manifested in a bitter quirk to his mouth and long bouts of silence, occasionally wringing his hands only to let them fall again. The con woman felt familiar eggshells pepper the space between them, choosing her words deliberately.

"You know, you're...pretty hard on yourself, too. It could've gone a lot worse." Sasha said. He didn't look at her or respond, making the urge to tug on her goggles difficult to resist.

It wasn't idle flattery. She never would have expected a mob boss to be one of the most reliable people she knew, but there it was, plainer than the heat glaze that surrounded them. It was with a slow, hesitant realization during their long walk she had recalled how many scraps they pulled themselves out of recently -- Tassle's veritable temper tantrum and thrashing of the bar, August's on-and-off business partner stabbing him in the back...it _would've_ been more than she signed up for if the grand prize wasn't a one-way ticket off Pandora. If anything it was an _improvement_ , as most of the dangerous situations she found herself in didn't have the additional promise of an assload of cash and better weather.

The harrying feeling in her chest remained, even as her mind attempted to twist itself into logic pretzels to deny the unforeseen reality squatting just a few inches away from her -- August came through when it mattered. Even when she wasn't sure just how much she mattered in his eyes. ' _He could have ditched you, over and over again, and you know it_.' Her subconscious wheedled, not quite drowned out by the lone rakk calling out above. ' _You're not just a part-time worker. He was ready to take a bullet for you_.' Sasha swabbed sweat from her brow again, mouth twisting into a frown -- too much free time had its downsides.

A rare breeze sifted around their feet, kicking up a swirl of dust and making them cover their mouths. She offered August her canteen; he took a small sip, nodding his appreciation and handing it back to her. Sasha watched as he took off his fingerless gloves, rubbing away the grime that had accumulated along the joints. Both knuckles were scarred and battered, his right hand boasting a thick, bumpy scar in a near-perfect V.

"Damn." She whistled, peering at the knotted tissue and trying to figure out if it was from a knife or a brand. "That's a nice souvenir." Sasha didn't miss the light that sparked in his eyes; pointing out someone's scars was one of the best, if not particularly original, ways of getting a conversation started. While the con woman knew her way around a right hook, the callouses on her hands ran more along her fingers and palms, where she regularly cleaned, fired and stole guns of all shapes and sizes.

"I used to brawl." He answered, tilting his hand to give her a better look. The man had relatively smooth skin, but his hands were another story entirely, scarred and pocked and bumpy with what seemed like years of abuse. With a squint she noticed a smattering of freckles along his wrist. She wondered if he had more. "Now I just crack the noses of whoever gets on my last nerve." He finished thoughtfully, clenching his hand into a tight fist. Sasha couldn't resist a smile.

"Seems like you've got a deficit of those. How do you even handle all this? I mean, I deal with my fair share of assholes, but this is madness." He missed the reference, much to her disappointment, putting his gloves back on and popping his knuckles idly.

"The simplest way is usually the best." It was an obvious answer, but sorely lacking in details -- she opened her mouth to press, only to close it again when he looked her way.

"What about you?" He asked, leaning back against the trailer and swatting away a fly.

"What about me?" She responded, only to mentally slap herself -- the blood loss high was doing her _no_ favors.

"You got a few enemies?" He specified, mouth relaxing but not quite smiling. Sasha rubbed her chin in a thoughtful display.

"I had a flock of cannibals who wanted to tear me limb from limb and serve me with a side of beer fries." August nodded slowly, tugging at his shirt collar to let whatever breeze he could onto the slickness coating his skin.

"So, you're learning from the best, is what you're saying." The con woman chuckled and shrugged, turning her eyes onto the sky, following the rakk that remained as constant as a star.

Sasha and her family had enemies, like anyone who interacted with _anybody_ in the wastelands, but they were usually handled through a de facto disappearance operandus. When the chips were down and their backs cornered they'd fight, without question, but even then there was always a risk of vengeful followers or falling down an unexpected proverbial rabbit hole if they didn't tie loose ends up properly. Oftentimes it was easier to simply run and become forgotten, pride be damned -- to hide away under the cover of night, a new persona, a new area. Whatever it took to stay alive when everyone had more followers, more ammunition and more bloodlust.

August had no such fallback. His entire livelihood began and end with Hollow Point and the surroundings outlands. Gangs may be as common (and as smart) as grains of sand, but the successful ones that trickled into the rare pockets of larger towns became notoriously hard to budge. The only way they could stay on top and stand apart from the others was through a heady combination of discipline, grit and a heaping dose of stubbornness -- using another career field as a cover-up, like the Purple Skag, was as close to subtle as a gang could get. Reputation was alien to the con woman and _everything_ to the mob boss and she couldn't help a strain of sympathy cutting through her. What seemed like a particularly nasty series of shitty events was just another bad day at work for him.

"Got a story to pass the time?" She asked, peering through her Jakobs' sights every now and again to check on the skag pack. One was biting lethargically at a smaller peer attempting to nap beneath the only nearby rock with shade. Another, the oldest due to its prominent back spikes, favored one of its front legs as it sniffed the ground. A few more seconds revealed a limp, likely from a fight with one of its group or an unlucky sprint into a pothole. ' _Yeah. I feel you, you ugly little turd_.' She thought mildly, the wound in her thigh throbbing with a subconscious empathy. ' _Shit sucks_.'

"Maybe." August muttered, eyes closed and legs curled slightly to stay within the trailer's gradually shrinking shade. Its position acted the part of a rather unusual sundial, heralding the nuances of the day with every shift and stretch of the trailer's shadow. "You first." The dust clinging to her throat made it clear singing would be a poor choice of entertainment and she wasn't about to use up the water in her canteen; so she pursed her lips in thought, even as the day's chilling memories kicked up in the back of her mind again.

With an inward sigh, she decided to take her own advice.

"I'll...tell you a story."

Fingers twisted and untwisted the canteen's top, the rakk above disappearing into the afternoon's groggy haze.

_They were the only two people in the world._

_The third had vanished in the night while the others dreamt of stars and planets. When morning flew in on cold yellow wings the two woke to find their loved one's bed empty and their belongings gone, the only sign of their passing the faint indent in their pillow and the lingering scent of rum. The oldest of the two hollered, cupping her hands around her mouth and wailing into the night despite the bullymongs that were known to roam nearby. The youngest searched, as best she could into the surrounding desert with only an old lantern to push the darkness away. They both wept. Their voices carried across the deserts to the mountains beyond, a child's plea to the constellations above and the spirits six feet below. Only the wind answered._

_Hungry and afraid, they took whatever their small arms could carry and left._

_Ducking behind rocks to hide from the skags' greedy noses and the hulking rakk hives that roamed in the distance, the two eventually came upon a strange domain. Towering creatures stomped throughout lofty frameworks of wood and stone, smoke seeping from their lips, leaving little but sand and blood in their wake. The only two people in the world would follow their footprints like breadcrumbs, leading them to dangerous caves filled with terrible sounds. Sometimes they would take the creatures' food, stuffing their pockets fit to bursting and cramming as much as they could into their mouths before sprinting toward the nearest hiding place like cave worms their hole. Other times their hands would grasp empty air, nothing to fill their bellies but dread and exhaustion._

_The only two people in the world never let one another out of their sight, the threat of the towering creatures' fangs and the death that always seemed to follow behind them threatening to finally swallow the two whole. One of the creatures had caught them during a bid for food, only once, as the eldest attempted to shield the other, striking her so terribly her brow split apart._

_"I'm hungry." replaced "How are you?"_

_"I'm scared." replaced "Let's go play."_

_"Don't leave me." replaced "I love you."_

_With nobody else to talk to, their world rotted to whispers._

_The youngest suffered from clumsy hands and clumsy feet, unable to match the sprint of the eldest even during chest-choked fear. It was out of necessity they snuck into one of the monsters' caves under the cover of shadow, the sour scent of beer and spirits masking their dirty forms like a cloak. The creatures inside coughed fire and brandished savage instruments that blew other monsters limb from limb. When their backs were turned, their attention dulled by liquor, the pair would reach into their pockets and bags and pull out whatever came to hand. It wasn't until they found a monster with one eye the youngest got bold._

_Floorboards creaked ominously as she crept up to the beast, tiny hands hungrily clenching the empty air in light of its bloated pockets. The eldest waved and waved, trying to call her back, fearful that her clumsy partner could slip up and leave them both stranded in a death trap they couldn't escape. She touched her cut brow, trembling from where she hid beneath the gloom of one of the many beasts' resting place, watching the youngest reach, as best her height could allow, into the creature's coat._

_It turned, suddenly, grabbing her hand and holding her in place._

_She was too young for subtlety, too naive to twist her small wrist out of its grasp and run to her sister. She wailed in fear, tugging and writhing, changing the cloying air of the cave in an instant. The beasts around them stirred and muttered, shifting their feet and puffing their smoke, irate and curious. The eldest sibling ran between their legs, into the terrifying open where gaudy lights and swimming faces fought for attention, ready to kick and bite the beast away from her sister._

_To her shock, the youngest held a watch in her hands, a brilliantly shiny little thing, tears soaking her cheeks but no longer crying._

_One single blue eye peered back at them. It didn't raise its voice, like the monsters that swarmed after them when they stole food. It didn't wield bloodied claws or fire-sticks, either, like so many of the packs that roamed outside. The watch in her sister's hands disappeared, reappearing in the hand of the old man that was now kneeling on the dirty floor before them. The sisters looked to each other, confusion warring with fear, and felt smiles stretch their faces when the watch appeared again, behind the man's ear._

_It was magic._

_He opened his mouth to speak. Instead of smoke and growls, the most beautiful music washed over their ears -- a sonnatta of faith, a lone olive branch, a dream long since blown to dust in the wastelands._

_It was then and there the two discovered there were three people in the world again._

He had opened his eyes, gazing out into the sands with an unreadable expression. Sasha watched the pack of skags retreat into the distance.

It wasn't a charming tale. It certainly wasn't a bar ditty. It was, quite simply, the closest she could get to a confession. Something in Sasha's chest _needed_ to crawl out into the open. Something left in her from her brush with death earlier that day, where the only thing she could see even through the gun blasts and plumes of dirt were her sister's terrified eyes. To remind herself what she was fighting for. He turned and looked her way, brow crinkling, those pale eyes searching her peculiarly before turning back to the desert.

"So...good things come to those who wait?" August asked after a moment. The question was an interesting one, not something that crossed her mind very often, especially when stories were normally used just to pass the time in-between one's next meal.

"Honestly?" She said. "Stories are whatever you want them to be." The mob boss seemed both curious and unimpressed, crossing his arms.

"Then what's the point of an aesop?" Sasha offered him her canteen, matching her eyebrows with his.

"To tell you what the _author_ wants the story to be."

"All right. What was that story to you?" He asked, catching her gaze. The con woman didn't respond.

They shared the canteen sparingly, taking sips in-between small, constant conversations. It was the closest she could get to kissing the man, the idle fantasy of softening those hard eyes and wetting his dry lips and forgetting where they were for a few blissful moments flitting in and out of her mind like dust.

\--

The day's events rolled in and out of August's head, mutating into a vile energy that took residence in his stomach like an unwelcome squatter. While he wanted nothing more than to punch a few good dents into the side of the trailer, he didn't want to risk drawing attention to their location (though, according to the occasional scanning of their surroundings, all they had to worry about was a pack of juvenile skags). It was an unusual coping method, but he took whatever he could get if it was offered -- he listened to Sasha's soft voice, allowing it to filter in and out of his mind like a sedative as the hours ticked themselves away.

It was impossible for every deal to go smoothly. He knew this firsthand. It didn't stop disappointment and rage waging a war in the pit of his gut, though, all the would-haves and damned could-have scenarios building up like a tumor and starting a headache right behind his eyes. Even doing deals with people he knew was a risk, merely one mediated by a few prior meetings and an attempt at partnership or, as was becoming more frequent, intimidation. To his surprise (and a handful of other emotions he was attempting to sort out with increasing failure), the wild card that had slipped into his deck weeks prior was actually...helping.

Sasha was one hell of a tough customer, far tougher than she looked, and he was starting to get the nagging feeling she cultivated the enchantment. When she first walked into his bar he had pegged her a clever, if impatient, Hollow Point native with more than one or two secrets up her sleeve. While this impression hadn't changed, it had certainly expanded. It wasn't as if he could blame her coy nature -- he put on a few personas himself depending on what was needed of him. The element of surprise was free, after all, and free shit was always in high demand.

Watching her in action was a lesson in motivation. Even without a firearm she was resourceful, quick to grab whatever was on hand and jump to action at a moment's notice. He had recalled quizzing her about her familiarity with weapons, as basic as skill as tying one's shoes, but what truly set her apart from the average scavenger was intuition. Of course, her handle on guns wasn't bad, either -- the woman had even caused one or two embarassing hindsight moments where he realized he needed to work on his aim.

Without her picking out the odd detail in Nucleus' barrels, it was more than a little likely they would be hanging by their ankles in some dank hideout somewhere waiting for a call from his mother. A part of him wanted to thank her. Another, uglier part wanted to salvage what little ego seemed to be left after his shitty week and never bring it up again. Yet another part just wanted to kiss her.

He found his normal suspicion quailing, just a little, in light of the unexpected camaraderie. It had been so long since he could depend on someone to watch his back. Someone who was consistently _around_ , anyway. Hope was an unfamiliar emotion, one he attempted to wrestle into submission only to find it slipping through his fingers. She had something to hide, just like everybody else. The only time it became a problem was when it put him or his in danger. This case was different, an exception to a rule he had almost forgotten how to break. Sasha's truth, if he ever got the chance, was something he wanted to earn.

When the sun started to dip they set off again, though not without a good stretch beforehand.

"All right, tell me about your brawling adventures. Sitting around was driving me _crazy_." She groaned, rolling her neck and achieving a few impressive pops. It wasn't a bad idea.

"Ha, fine." He responded. "Only if you give me another, uh...not-aesop. It'll be a while 'til we get there." Sasha certainly wasn't the only one curious about who she worked with. It piqued his curiosity in a way he hadn't felt in years, since he was a furious barely adult with more to prove than the average hoodlums in his neighborhood.

"There was this one guy. Icky Thump, he called himself..." August began, eyes squinting in memory. They passed another outcrop, wandering _just_ close enough to take advantage of its shade without veering too close to where bandits could be hiding. He detailed how he'd been brawling professionally since he was a kid, the field a reliable compromise between a poor lifestyle and anger management issues. It was with mild disappointment he found out the young woman had never attended the various wrestling and martial arts rings in Hollow Point, either too busy or too tired to watch the regularly scheduled slugfest. She would occasionally listen to coverage when she was bored and cleaning guns in the caravan, however, leading her to being more knowledgeable than he expected.

Turns out she still knew about Icky Thump, the long-time champion of Hollow Point with a reputation that even trickled outside of the Common Roads East -- he'd garnered his title for the particularly nasty sounds his opponents would make when hitting the ground, his uppercut notorious for its one-hit K.O. August explained how he had worked his way up through the fighting culture, quite literally, by tooth and nail. Every single fight made him a little smarter, a little quicker, a little stronger, giving him both pocket money and emotional lethargy at the end of every match.

Icky Thump had only accepted his proposal for a fight out of a desire to fuck with his mother. She had started to garner a heavier reputation when he entered adulthood, dethroning one of the local crime lords and absorbing their clan into her own. Whether or not the champion was part of the gang or had a stake to claim was unclear, but pettiness tasted the same no matter where it came from. It was a thrilling and terrifying moment in August's life as his responsibility blossomed from a supportive element in a pithy gang to a living inheritance almost overnight. With the money to back up his dreams and the unavoidable reputation nipping at his heels, he dealt with the stress the best way he knew how -- beating shit to a bloody pulp.

Perhaps he had something to prove to his mother, then, when he stepped into the ring to a nearly three hundred-strong crowd. Maybe it was a desire for a challenge he could live up to. His memory got a little blurry in that ten-minute match, no doubt an after-effect of the blows he took to the head -- Icky Thump was a rotten son of a bitch, bloated on years of unchallenged fame and the toxic residue of a gleefully violent culture. He chose to toy with August, humiliating him in front of the hundreds of betters and stragglers that congregated every other weekend without fail. His memory had holes, but he couldn't forget how Icky Thump tripped him during an attempted punch, sending him skidding to the ground and nearly hitting the wall of the surrounding cage facefirst. He also remembered how Icky Thump kicked sand into his face, effectively blinding him before kneeing him in the head and nearly knocking him out cold. Crunching sand between his teeth and blinking fire from his eyes, Icky Thump had all but turned August into an animal that night, struggling and failing to get back to his feet as he shielded his face from blows that never seemed to end.

What he remembered best, though, was the erupting howl of the crowd when he connected a right-hook with the reigning champion's face. Had Icky Thump not pushed his buttons quite so much, had he not spent so much time dragging the match out through cringeworthy bragging, August _might_ not have had the energy to tackle his legs and send him crashing to the ground, nor the adrenaline-fueled wrath to leap on top of him like a carnivore and thrash his face until the referee dragged him off. He'd been out for a week afterward, much to the behest of his mother, but the gossip that stirred in the town for months to come lit a fire that never quite went out.

" _Bam_." He swung a jab in the air to punctuate his words. "Right in the shitlicker's jaw. Could hardly see anything, but I felt his head damn near turn a 180. Even the medics couldn't slap him awake." He was awarded with a hearty applause. Sasha had been listening with rapt attention, nodding and cooing and gasping at all the right moments. Now her eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Okay, is it bad that I'm _mostly_ impressed you could still fight with sand in your eyes?" She said with a smirk. "Because I've had that happen to me and it's literal hell." August shook his head, trying and failing to hold back a smile.

He watched her adjust her headband, tucking a few of her locs back into place as she reminisced. "Fights are fun and all, but I'd rather save any bruises or broken bones for when it counts. Though, that does remind me a lot of a radio coverage I heard a few years back." She stopped herself mid-sentence at a sudden realization. "...Wait...the newbie who clocked out Icky Thump..."

August blinked slowly. "Yeah?" Sasha clapped her hands together.

"Super Skag!" He groaned and covered his face with one hand, only to use the other as Sasha laughed. There was a _reason_ he changed it.

She paused for a moment, resting off her leg a second before continuing to walk beside him. He slowed down in response. "Not bad, summer boy. You almost made Hollow Point _fun_ that day. I mean, I could still take you, but..." August barked a laugh at the unexpected answer.

"Sash, you're full of shit." She rolled her shoulders, a competitive glint in her eyes. It was a rarer and rarer moment when she wasn't poking at him. He couldn't say he minded.

"I won the sharpshooting contest _and_ the drinking contest." She stressed with a wave of her hand. "I would know. I was there."

It was his turn to get snarky, casting his best withering frown down at her. "By _won_ you mean you barely got home on your own two feet?" Sasha cringed visibly. "I had to keep you from running into every pole in the city that night. I would know. I was _there_."

Sasha stumbled, then, hitting one knee and cursing. " _Shit_. Damn it..."

August knelt by her, resisting the urge to reach a hand out. The young woman clearly had a high threshold for pain, but she was clearly reaching her limit. "Sash...?"

She nodded or shook her head -- it was hard to tell. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it." There was a fat chance of that. Shielding his eyes with one hand he looked ahead -- he could make out the cave that began Hollow Point, a vague blue bump against the dim blues of the horizon. He knelt with his back to her, gesturing behind him. "...Get on."

The young woman paused. "...Come again?"

He looked over his shoulder at her, beckoning again. "Get _on_. We don't have a lot of time."

A stiff breeze ruffled his hair, making him shiver lightly; the sensation was bliss against his greasy skin. Without another word (and a faint adjustment to her goggles) she climbed onto his back, flinching as he tried, gently as he could, to slide his hands under her legs and prop her up. August could feel her leggings crinkle against the palm of his hands, now crusted with old blood and the rapidly cooling weather. After a few moments' efforts she wrapped her arms around his neck. Standing up effortlessly, as she was little more than a particularly lean bean pole, he began to walk.

Her words sounded slurred to his ears. "You know...you're a lot sweeter than you let on, summer boy." August held back a snort. If there was one thing he'd never been called before, it was 'sweet'.

"Well..." He said, walking a brisk pace. "...we're a team, now." The con woman became quiet, then, cheek resting against the hard curve of his shoulder. It wasn't an easy thing to confess (indeed, he would have rather chewed a handful of sand) but there was no more roundabout way of putting it. It had become too true these past weeks. He could rely on her. Even though she only appeared on and off as his schedule permitted her, Sasha was an omnipresent moment in his life. Even when she wasn't cleaning countertops in the bar, she was on his mind, lingering in the small, dusty space in his head he rarely visited, much less acknowledged. Every warm breath against his skin from where her head was now nestled between his neck and shoulder felt like a glimpse into another life.

"Who's Ardan...?"

His stomach clutched -- he had forgotten Sasha donned his coat again in the encroaching chill.

Sasha shifted slightly against his back, the flutter of her lashes brief and vanishing as she raised her head. He had remained quiet too long, as she muttered, "Sorry. It's probably personal." He stared at the lights blinking in the distance, bouncing off the purples and blues of the sands to meet the dipping oranges in the sunset. August felt, for just a moment, he was in the ring again. Figuring out when to swing and when to hold back. Victory on his tongue. It wasn't the kind that came in dollar bills, though, or even a few positive impressions on passerbys. It was the kind of victory one nestled in their back pocket, to keep crystallized in precious memory.

He swallowed the dryness from his throat, inwardly blaming it on the weather. The crunch of his feet on the hard sand evolved into a monotonous rhythm.

_"They'll trade with us...c'mon. Mom can't do everything, I can't...I can't even walk, bro. Please. You gotta do this for me, I know the guy. I know him."_

_There was only a mother and her children, when all else was lost._

_The oldest son would go off on raids, joining up with other small-time mercenaries and wannabe Vault Hunters to get whatever he could get his hands on by the end of the day. The middle brother joined fighting pits, an angry little ball of rage that often butted heads with the other family members. The youngest son was a coward, working as a cleaner at a bus station in an attempt to avoid the more unsavory aspects of their lifestyle. While the eldest son and middle son did their best to toughen him up, taking him out to shooting practice and even giving him a baby skag for his birthday, the former was too harsh and the latter too busy or too tired. Nothing clicked. Nothing sticked._

_Wastelands were characterized by their deficit in materials and surplus of poor, hungry nobodies. Every day their mother would go out and scavenge, leaving the boys to work out the day amongst themselves. She had only a few partners, fellow scavengers whose main distinction was being a touch more interested in cooperation than self-serving destruction -- her powerful personality and eye for detail often had her heading missions, though as anything else in the outlands, the only thing truly guaranteed was a painful death. Every night she would come back, sometimes with loot and sometimes empty-handed. The eldest brother, when he wasn't joining raids, looked after their home alongside the family skag. The middle brother always came home late, covered in bruises and often shutting himself away. Dinner was always a meager affair._

_Their home was destroyed by a moonshot one morning. The blasts from Helios were glimpsed only rarely in the furthest reaches of the outlands, the area too barren and too harsh to warrant much interest from outside parties. Their mother had been preparing to go out again, her sons still sleeping in the dim light of the morning. They barely had time to grab whatever was closest at hand when she ran back inside, screaming their names and pulling them to their feet. The eldest brother grabbed his gun. The middle brother grabbed his money jar. The youngest brother grabbed his coat._

_The ramshackle compound of impromptu huts and tents was reduced to ash in seconds, whatever slapdash culture and rare good memories they had accrued amounting to little more than dirt and lumps of dead flesh. For days the mother and her sons wandered through the deserts with hardly more than the clothes on her back, taking refuge beneath rocks and using the family skag to scout for danger when they couldn't spare an extra hand. Their salvation came in the form of a small whistle-stop in the Rust Commons West, home to workers and bandits living along the train line. Salvation never came without a price, however. Back then, payment arrived in the form of a few too many coughs from the older brother. A few too many coughs from the youngest._

_A week later they came down with an illness with no name._

_Their mother's energy had all but left her. She spent more time haggling and begging than she did shooting and riding across the sands. The eldest brother developed a skin condition that forced him into a body suit he couldn't leave, some nights wracked with so much pain he could hardly sleep for tossing and turning. The youngest hardly left his bed. Only the middle brother escaped the worst of the moonshot's after-effects, using his good luck to fight twice as hard in the fighting pits, once every other night, putting on the best show possible to squeeze every last ounce of change out of the visitors and regulars alike. He would return home exhausted to the bone, the fire that once characterized his eyes replaced with guilt and regret, skin eternally purple and blue._

_One day the youngest brother snuck out of their hut, his empty bed and crumpled sheets seeming downright alien to the new life the family had cobbled together those long, difficult weeks. When he finally returned home a light was in his eyes, weary and triumphant, even as his mother yelled and his brothers criticized. He had a plan that was going to change everything for the better, but he was so fearful what they would say if he shared it he kept it to himself. He begged and begged the middle brother to go in his stead, the only one able enough to make the trek down to the bandit compound on the border of the whistle-stop. Pit fights were put on hold._

_"They'll trade with us...c'mon. Mom can't do everything, I can't...I can't even walk, bro. Please. You gotta do this for me, I know the guy. I know him."_

_The youngest brother's farewell had been a farce. A coward, even unto death._

Sasha's breath had become as monotonous as his steps. It was another moment before he realized she had dozed off, no doubt due to the stress and his silence both. ' _...Sorry, Sash_ '. He thought, adjusting the sleepy tingle in his arms as gently as possible as not to wake her. ' _Maybe I'll tell you another time_.'

His collar blinked blue. He stopped abruptly, looking sideways at it in surprise. "I got it." Sasha muttered, reaching around his neck to press the button. His skin thrilled at her touch.

" _Au...st_?" A voice said, clipping faintly through static. " _Can yo...me? Sor-tatic is horri-_ "

The wind was starting to kick up, whistling faintly and making them both jitter with goosebumps. August angled his head in an attempt to hear better. "Kind of." He said, raising his voice. "You're cutting out." Sasha pulled his collar closer to his mouth; though he knew she couldn't see it, the man couldn't help but smile at the gesture. A few more sputters and coughs emitted from the device before another voice, clearer and higher-pitched, spoke.

" _Sorry. You hear me now? Brandy always thinks hitting the receiver makes it work better_."

Hollow Point's gaping entrances were well within view now, clusters of lights winking like fireflies inside. The smell of smoke and cooking meat flitted on the breeze; even August's hardly-love for the town grew nostalgic at the scent.

" _Nucleus is still out there, unfortunately_." Scov continued. " _Brandy got 'er in the leg, but she vanished right into the big ol' hole. I can't tell if they're cannibals or crab worms, boss_." August scoffed lightly. It was a little too much to hope they could pop off that traitorous piece of shit within the day, even if she wasn't much to worry at the present. Just another thing to pencil on his to-do list. " _We did manage to grab one of the barrels. Er, the only ones that hadn't been shot. Turns out some did have some oil. We wrapped a rope 'round a few and we're just dragging them behind us_." August heaved a sigh in relief. Good. The deal wasn't a total bust.

" _Need us to grab you? We're low on fuel, but we got enough for a return trip. Arrow could haul you two, if'n you don't mind sittin' funny_." He heard Brandy offer. The suggestion was a tempting one; his legs were trembling with the day's exertion and he wanted nothing more than to down a few beers, lay down and close his eyes. He wasn't interested in wasting more fuel or giving his mother more ammunition to use against him. With a start he realized he hadn't asked Sasha her thoughts. ' _You're a team_.' He thought. ' _Act like it_.'

"You want them to grab us?"

He felt her shake her head, locs tickling the back of his neck. "I mean, we're almost there. It'd just be a waste of time to sit around and wait to be picked up. Unless you're getting tired of carrying me." She added, a touch coyly.

' _You're **carrying** her_?' Brandy squawked through the receiver. ' _I mean it, I can get there lickity-split_!'

August turned it off with a sigh. "Okay, let's hurry up and get home before she has a heart attack." He said, starting to walk only to stop at Sasha's behest.

"We... _you_ need to let me down."

August looked over his shoulder. "Why? You can't wa-"

Sasha shook her head. "We're close to Hollow Point. With an injury this obvious I may as well put a bulls-eye on my forehead." The man acquiesced and bent down, though his brows were still knitted in tight concern. "Wish I had a stress ball." She sighed, kneeling on the ground and stretching gingerly.

"A stress...ball?" He asked, following her lead and rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. Sasha made a squeezing gesture with her hand.

"You know those little squishy toys? When you're stressed out but can't shoot any Hyperion signs at the moment?"

August stared at her, round-eyed. "...No. I like the sound of it, though." He rubbed the back of his head, then held his hand out to her. In one swift movement he pulled her back to her feet, ignoring the biting chill as she gained her bearings. The sky was a deep blue now, stars beginning to blink above, lights winking deep within the the openings of the cave as if in response. A stiff wind blew their way, egging them on.

The man tried not to think about how small her hand was. When she began to walk he let go, reluctantly.

A huddle of drunks tried to flag them down as they made their way through one of the entrances. The stench of alcohol practically formed a cloud around them. "What're y'all doin' down there, huh?" One slurred, gesturing with a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. "What're y'all doin'? 's gettin' late!"

In spite of her limp Sasha waved their way, adopting their drunken slur as easily as if she had just downed a few shots beforehand. " _Wheelies_ , my man! Wheelies! Crashed our ride out there. Colder than a fucking skag's dick, I'll tell you what!"

August struggled to keep a straight face -- it seemed working at the Purple Skag had refined her ability to drunk-speak. They gesticulated and jabbered something he couldn't understand, but their more relaxed demeanor and raucous laughing made it clear both he and Sasha had slipped from 'potential mug victim' to 'fellow drunk asshole'. The mob boss' lips couldn't help but form an impressed frown, nodding his head slightly as they made their way down the tangled flight of stairs that led to the lower levels of the cave and the noisy rabble dissolved into nothingness.

"That was pretty good, Sash." He said as they eventually blinked out of view. "I would have just stabbed them." Even in the dark the look she gave him was just shy of disdainful.

"With _what_? Your foot?"

He waved vaguely. "I would've improvised."

The cold of the cave stung their bare skin, the old song of mutters and machinery and people filling their periphery. Sasha let out a sigh, putting a hand on one hip and observing her surroundings like a pile of shit she just avoided stepping in. "Home sweet home."

August rubbed his chin, ignoring the hunger pains in his stomach. "We have a family doctor. Shebbra. She can see to your leg." Sasha grimaced, though it wasn't from pain.

"That'll come out of my wages, huh?" Her eyes widened when he, a touch more intensely than he meant to, corrected her.

"Of _course_ not. You did me a solid out there. Least I can do is get you patched up."

He hailed a cab with a wave of his hand -- the driver recognized him immediately, asking no questions even as the stench of body odor and blood filled the car like a haze as they made themselves comfortable. August crossed his arms, gazing out the window and allowing himself a moment to shut his eyes, the breeze filtering through the half-open space freezing yet welcome. The woman had worked for Vallory for years, as close to a member of the family one could get while still being an employee. She had stitched up August more than a few times throughout his childhood, even after he left brawling behind him and took up his mantle as his mother's second-in-command.

She didn't live too far from his complex, close enough to maintain her relative isolation while still being technically next-door. The doctor yanked open the door when they arrived, hair mussed from what was apparently a previous stint in bed. "Look, I'm _clo_ -" She paused at the sight of them. "...Oh." Dark eyes flicked to Sasha's leg to him and back again. " _Ah_." Without another word she waved them in, flicking on a light and revealing a cluttered apartment adjusted as a makeshift office. She pushed a stack of boxes off a long table in the middle of the room, pulling down a light and turning it on. The place smelled of burnt candles and old wood.

"An extra hundred." She grumbled as she pulled her hair back into a messy bun and slipped on a pair of gloves. "You _know_ I don't do after-hour visits." August waved his hand impatiently, leaning in one corner of the office and crossing his arms.

"I got it. Do your job." Sasha was a polite patient, sitting on the table and leaning back without a word. The quirk of her eyebrow in his direction, though, said plenty. He looked away.

Shebbra reached for a remote, flicking on a tiny television mounted on what looked like the leftover remnants of a sexy leg lamp. August tried to keep his tone light. "Seriously...?" The old woman tossed Sasha's bloodied sweater into the trash, much to her chagrin, before mopping up the worst of the crust around her thigh.

"The chatter helps me work. Be a dear and turn up the volume. Only two buttons work on this piece of shit clicker." Sasha leaned back a little into the shadow, but he still caught her biting her lip in a barely concealed laugh.

It was short-lived, as she scrunched her face when Shebbra doused her wound in solution. August looked back at her, feeling his shoulders hunch sympathetically as he tweaked the dial on the television. A honk of static made him jump, the screen blinking from a kissing couple to gray fuzz. "You _dork_!" Shebbra snapped from the table, waving a bloodied cotton ball at him. "The button on the _left_. Have you never seen a television before?" August scowled and reached around the box -- her medical skill was the only thing keeping him from tossing the damn thing at her head.

'A Cup Of Brimstone' flashed back in flickering colors. It was Shebbra's favorite film, some filmmaker's nauseating attempt at a romance flick, one of two entire movies she'd turn on when working on a patient. August could quote the damn thing by heart. ' _Oh, doll, just a cup of brimstone for a cold heart_.' His mind recited mechanically as he glowered at the doe-eyed couple on the screen. ' _A cup of brimstone is the last thing on my mind_.'

Sasha pointed at something sitting on the doctor's dresser. "Hey, is that what I think it is...?"

The doctor didn't look up from her work, now working the stitches in and out of the bruised skin as easily as a seamstress would a pant leg. "Yes...call her Little Peggy." She rasped, only to frown and look up when August reached over to pick it up. He raised his eyebrows as he mechanically squeezed the colorful ball, the material strangely soft and pliant at the same time. Already the knots in his wrist and fingers were beginning to loosen. These weren't so bad. Sasha eventually had to lay down, the doctor propping her leg at an angle to better stitch the wound close. The woman watched the movie upside down, locs dangling just over the edge of the table. Every once in a while her green eyes would flick his way, tired and amused.

August listened to the faint crackle of static and dialogue, tapping a finger against his arm as he stared idly at the television, thoughts returning like a boomerang back to the young woman a few feet away.

He needed to find a way to properly thank her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: "I'm going to stick to a schedule!" 
> 
> Life: "You see, the _thing_ is-"


	8. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lies may keep you safe, but they certainly won't keep you warm.

"Boys...you keep an eye on these two. Especially this one. Don't believe a thing she says."

"Aw. How _sweet_."

The Atlas facility had long since been abandoned, though just _who_ they had to thank for the piles of corpses propping up the walls and littering the hallways was unclear. August had resisted the urge to cover his nose when he walked in, the stench of rotting flesh and what seemed like stale oil hitting him like a slap to the face. His bandits murmured nervously to one another, peering through their sights at the rafters above and spreading out to cover any and all openings. He couldn't blame them -- Atlas technology was notoriously well-funded, in every sense of the word. That dozens of guards were taken out in what appeared to be a quick bloodbath made even his skin prickle.

"Well, isn't _this_ a pretty sight." Vasquez murmured, stepping with great care over the split neck of one of the Atlas guards -- the bone of his spine poked out of the severed stump that used to connect to his head, glinting wetly among the congealed reds and blacks. "You'll have to invite me down to Pandora more often, August. You all really know how to create an impression."

August made sure his back was turned, as the crinkle of his nose couldn't be attributed solely to the smell.

Tracking them down had been an insufferable ordeal, the highlight of the car ride toward the facility listening to his business partner's constant whinging about the hot air. Never mind soaking in his own juices about the deal that had been pulled under his nose hardly a day ago. His mother had called them both down to handle the worst of the bunch, as it wasn't every day she had to be pulled away from her station to deal with a botched business proceeding. The anti-climax that met him when they arrived was a strange mixture of foreboding, welcome and annoying; he attributed the latter to excess energy, even as his subconscious wheedled the truth. The man was _craving_ a distraction -- if that meant a haze of bullets and unfriendly one-liners both being tossed his way, so be it. Pandoran through and through.

When the soft murmur of voices filled the dead space, echoing faintly even with their apparent great care to whisper, his ears honed in on one in particular. With a wave of his hand for silence, three of his men flanked him as he made his way toward the unaware company. He was careful to step around the puddles of blood and littered bullet shells, curving his step to reduce any noise he made to a mere suggestion.

Strolling around the statue, he couldn't help a smug smile curving his lips at the collection of shocked faces that greeted him.

" _Mr. Ten Million Dollars_."

Less truly was more. The Hyperion stooge gaped at him comically, holding what looked to be a piece of Atlas technology in his robotic hand, the other adjusting his glasses and hovering skittishly around the giant yellow robot that shadowed them. The short-haired woman from before, unsuccessfully, held the other piece behind her back, eyes narrowed in a show of disdain. August, however, only had eyes for one.

Sasha had a hand on her hip, gaze as level and as neutral as if they had only just met. "Rhys and Vaughn's new little playmates, huh?" Vasquez drawled as he approached. "It's very nice to meet the two of you...shame we couldn't be meeting under _different_ circumstances." A round of annoyed scoffs followed this remark, though the mob boss hardly heard it for the heartbeat pounding in his ears. There were a million and one things he wanted to say to her. Another million and one questions he wanted to ask. It would have to wait for another time, though, as the solution to their problem was just mere feet away. Like anything else in his life, business came first.

Vasquez slugged Reeze in the face after the man attempted a truce, much to the horror of his bespectacled partner. He then pulled out a universal remote (one of many useful devices that never seemed to make their way to Pandora), stopping the robot dead in its tracks before disabling it entirely and leaving a hunk of useless metal on the ground. August could care less about what happened to the Hyperion goons -- it was hard to feel particularly generous toward a pair of overpaid dickheads who were likely one or two signed sheets away from leveling a bandit camp, never mind their (indirect) participation in the deal that went south. The group soon realized their only bargaining chip was cooperation and, with a little encouragement from the business end of his pistol, they shuffled to their respective stations accordingly -- the Hyperion lead with Vasquez, the other (Fiona, was it?) with him.

Sasha glared at him from between his impromptu guards, offering a quip that was nearly dripping with venom. It was curious feeling, seeing that fiery gaze aimed his way. The weight that had sat in his chest ever since she and her family ran out of Oasis and left him in the dust cracked at the sight of those sharp green eyes. He thought he would be angrier. Instead he felt a wealth of responses that ran the gamut of tickled to relieved. August didn't have time to sort out the veritable Rubik's cube of emotions that was handed to him, not with the invisible ticking clock floating above all of their heads -- without another word he lead her sister down the hallway, gun to her back.

The mob boss remembered that shitty day with crystal clarity, rewinding it in his head anew in an attempt to numb the ache growing in his chest all over again -- the vault key shattering to the ground like a cheap figurine, the smoke bomb that stung his eyes, Sasha's guilt-ridden wince when she caught his gaze. He recalled how Fiona had prepared to shoot him, using one of Bossanova's bandits as a launching board to jump into the air and aim directly at his face, only to pull the strange little pistol she kept up her sleeve back into its holster. It was a strange choice then and it felt even stranger upon recollection. Why she hadn't taken the shot was beyond him. Was it pity? Pragmatism?

Was it for Sasha's sake?

"...She ever talk about me?"

Fiona looked over her shoulder, confusion written in every line of her face. "Uh, what?" August looked up from where he had been studying the ground. He attempted to keep his tone neutral, even as his stomach attempted to recall one of his worst hangovers in recent memory.

"Sasha." He repeated. "Did she ever...talk about me?" The woman looked ahead again, not deigning to answer. "You guys _are_ sisters. I figure you talk every now and again. Just curious if she ever mentioned me." He pressed, feeling his stomach curl again -- it was an odd situation, no doubt why Fiona was hesitant to continue the conversation. She was probably still wondering how he figured out they were sisters in the first place.

"She thinks you're dangerous." She responded after a pause. August frowned. It was difficult to imagine Sasha saying such a thing -- little seemed to truly scare her, much less _him_ after all the time they'd spent together. It actually sounded absurd.

"Yeah, well. I am." He answered, a touch impatiently. "So that's fine. Maybe that's something she _likes_ about me."

"It's _not_." She stressed, narrowing her eyes. They were the exact same color as Sasha's. "You had a guy killed in front of us, remember?"

August attempted a chuckle, even as the injustice of the accusation stung more than he'd care to admit. "Oh, yeah." He said. "That was rash." It was rash _and_ necessary, rather, but he wanted to show her a little bit of grace -- this wasn't a position either of them wanted to be in. He wondered idly if Fiona was putting on another show, leading him down some proverbial worm hole to distract him. He brushed aside the feeling with little effort -- she wasn't _nearly_ as good an actor as Sasha was. All the little telling details and minor slip-ups people regularly took for granted were as easy for him to spot as the sun in the sky. Even as he put on his best effort to be friendly all the way back at the Purple Skag when she first walked up to the counter, he could tell she was a touch out of her element, cocky without a clue.

Sitting down at one of the bar tables to talk business, the woman seemed to be reading an invisible cue card every time she answered one of his questions. How she folded her hands a little too carefully, smiled a touch too stiffly. Hell, the _vault key_ had practically done all the talking for her. Even when dishonesty rubbed him every wrong way imaginable, he could understand the effort she put in that night. As much as he could understand the bloodlust in a carnivore, anyway. It was a necessary (and disgusting) fact of life having to shut parts of himself away to make it through another deal, to get what he wanted at the compromise of his dignity. That she didn't fool him for an instant and could probably not talk her way around _Tector_ , well...it was just another thing that impressed him about her younger sister. How easy she made it all look.

The warm feeling in his chest faded, however, as the implication sank in. Was it easy because their relationship, whatever they had, was truly as fake as the hunk of painted stone in that briefcase? All these fucking questions. The lies, the double-crossing, the flattery...Sasha's presence in his life those months back had made everything so _simple_. He had practically forgot what the damn word meant. Now everything had mutated into a fucked up romantic comedy, where he was the butt of the joke every time the scene got rolling. With a great effort he reigned in his ire, keeping his tone smooth even as his thoughts howled for attention.

"That guy, though? He was a bad guy. Been ripping my family off for _years_ , piling lie on top of lie until he didn't know what the truth was." The woman made sure he saw her frown. He was tempted to go into more detail, emphasize the sheer laundry list of bullshit Tommy had piled onto him and his since he first got into the business years ago. August was as patient as a man in his position could be, far too familiar with a destitute past not to muster up a scrap of empathy when the situation called for it, but when someone actually attempted to undermine his entire way of life and run off scot free, well. He had a reputation, and a _neck_ , to keep.

He'd offered Tommy a way to pay him back. Three damn times. Over and over again his generosity had been thrown in his face, his rare good faith turned into a mockery as the man forgot a meeting here, skimped out on an agreement there. His mother had even called him a bleeding heart one day, her far more acidic version of 'douchebag', and made it incredibly clear how pissed she would be if any of Tommy's bullshit affected the gang at large. When he discovered who had sold him out to Nucleus, even in a complicated bid to pay him back...he had drawn the line for good.

He never could have predicted the brief peace-of-mind of no longer being used would later cement one of the worst first impressions he could afford to do in front of the sister of his girlfriend. Who later ended up using him, too.

What a shitshow.

\--

Fiona sighed inwardly.

She needed a damn drink.

Everything had turned into a tightrope act faster than she could say, "I'm Audi 5000". The hair on the back of her neck had never stopped twitching ever since they stepped into the ghost town, even though there was nothing but delipidated buildings and busted technology greeting their efforts after that hellish death race. What should have been a moment's reprieve felt somehow worse than running rings in the middle of nowhere with bloodthirsty bandits, if only for the questions that bubbled beneath the surface with no straightforward answers. It was a blessing in disguise when Rhys used his ECHO eye implant to figure out the issues with the electricity -- while it wasn't _quite_ enough for her to forgive it blowing their deal, she tried not to dwell on the past if she could help it.

Even Sasha, cracking jokes and swaggering as was her wont in less-than-ideal situations, was unsettled when they came upon the slaughterhouse inside. As smooth and polished the surrounding architecture was, the only thing anyone could afford to look at was the dozens of bodies that lay around like bad furniture. Living as scavengers and con artists had honed the sisters' instinct to a paper thin edge and _everything_ about the scene felt wrong, even beyond the obvious carnage. Mysteries were only fun when she didn't have to stick her neck out.

When August and Vasquez stepped out from behind the massive Atlas statue, the con artist almost wished she could have taken her chances with the guards.

Babysitting Rhys and Vaughn had been hard enough without Sasha's bedwarmer getting lovesick. Every element in her life had turned into a wild card and she was playing against a terribly stacked deck. Thankfully, she was in her element and doing what she did best -- winging the _heck_ out of it. With her discontent clear but no visible intent to fight back, she had walked down the hallway with August like a good little hostage, trying not to think overmuch about the gun inches from her back.

"It's been one miserable day for you, hasn't it?" August said after a few moment's silence. "If I seem hostile, it's because I'm not accustomed to getting the rug pulled out from me that badly. Took me by surprise." The man's affable tone was a touch unsettling. She had expected him to continue a line of threats a la his Hyperion business partner or contribute passive-aggressive commentary regarding her slow walk or manner of dress, as was standard protocol in hostage situations. Instead he'd been talking to her like an old acquaintance, catching up over the holidays by asking about the potato salad. "Been a long time since I've had one pulled over me like that. Not a pleasant feeling." He continued, musing out loud. "By a pair of sisters, no less. It's quite the combo." If anything, he sounded _impressed_. She had to give the man credit -- he certainly wasn't as punchable as Vasquez.

"Sasha and I are a great team." She responded, allowing a touch of pride to enter her voice. "Been doing it together our whole lives." Fiona risked a glance back at him; he was no longer holding the gun to her back and had stopped walking. Taking the cue, she slowed down to a halt, standing a few feet away in the faint red glow of the hallway's long stretch.

August had on impressed frown, nodding slightly and observing her with a curious eye. "Yeah. It shows. Word around Hollow Point is that you two aren't half bad in a fight, either."

"So, what? You came back for round two?" She said, raising her brows. While she wasn't going to push his buttons _too_ hard, she wanted to make it clear she wasn't going to be a pushover. That and the more time she had to stall, the more time she had to think of a plan. "Bit of a glutton for punishment, aren't you?"

August narrowed his eyes a little, pupils nearly vanishing into an icy blue. It seemed the man's buttons were easier to push than she thought. Or perhaps it was the subject matter. Whichever one it was she filed mentally for later, if there would be a later at all.

"Frankly? You've been a pain in my neck since I met you." He said, gesturing with his gun. While it wasn't a direct threat, she was good at taking hints. Fiona crossed her arms and lifted her chin, not progressing but not backing down, either. Bandits were nearly as quick to pick up on weakness as she was a good deal. The man's expression relaxed a touch, a smile curving his mouth at some personal memory. "Don't go getting a big head, though. I knew something was wrong with you the minute you walked in." He said, barely holding back a snort. "If it weren't for Sasha, I wouldn't have taken the meeting." _This_ made Fiona pause.

"Wait...if it weren't for Sasha?" She repeated, uncertainly. How the hell was ten million dollars something that needed encouragement? To her surprise he began to pace, like an animal in a cage, running a hand through his spiky hair.

"Yeah, well...she'd been giving me a hard time for not doing anything with _her_ friends. So I was trying to make an effort, you know." August said with a long-suffering shrug. "'We're partners'. 'You know your aim isn't as good as mine'. 'Remember what happened with Nucleus?'." Fiona slowly raised her eyebrows. It was a pretty good impression of her sister. More importantly, though, is that Sasha certainly never told her about _any_ of that.

"Oh, don't give me that look." He grumbled, stopping and crossing his arms. "Besides, you _barely_ did any of the work. Seems like you came in for that little conversation about your fake key." The con artist swallowed back a sarcastic laugh, even as a shred of guilt crept up inside her. Guy was a little too canny for his own good.

"Sasha did most of the work. You weren't the one helping me mop up blood or keeping my guns clean or...never mind." He trailed off, brows furrowing; the lines around his mouth and browline suggested the man was more accustomed to scowling than smiling. "Point is, Sasha was doing most of the heavy lifting with that job." Continuing their journey down the hallway was temporarily forgotten as they stood in the middle of the dimly lit hall in-between his guards and whatever lay ahead of them. Fiona crossed her arms, looking at him for what seemed like the first time.

She allowed herself a moment of touchiness, if only to save her own pride under his verbal onslaught. "Hey, I don't know what scam you were watching, but I did _more_ than enough to fool you." She said with a shake of her head. Bandit or no, she had her limits.

The con artist had half-expected the man to get edgy, perhaps shoot a warning shot between her feet to match her tone. Instead his eyes lowered to the ground, something like shame or regret playing on his features. "Yeah..." He muttered. "Yeah, I guess you did."

Strangely, August began to stumble over his words. "I almost thought...maybe she and I..." He flinched, suddenly, as if realizing the vulnerable position he had put himself in. His tone became harsher, but Fiona's ears were sharp; she picked up on the hurt and embarrassment that undercut them.

"I'm a powerful guy. I don't like being made to look _foolish_. Especially not by someone...like her." His voice lowered again, not quite a growl. It was satisfying, surreal and horrible all at once to see the effect Sasha had wrought on her captor. Fiona had known something was up between them the second she walked into the Purple Skag -- there was no mistaking the tender way the man kissed her sister's cheek -- but she had no idea it was _this_ bad.

The 'Create A Mark' handbook had a few golden rules: 'take whatever opportunity you can', 'trust your gut', 'remember your mark's fucking name'. The most consistent one? 'Sex sells'. Fiona knew this -- it's why she made sure to dress as stylishly as possible, even as her high heels had long since worn a groove into the soles of her feet. Sasha learned years ago how to play up all angles, from the unscripted surprises that required quality bullshitting to the ones that ran along her hips. If getting a bit of extra money meant playing up the proverbial sex kitten or naive romantic, she'd do it and in record speed. Even though she hated it. Even though Fiona had told her, over and over again, that she didn't have to.

August...whatever this was, it _wasn't_ part of the plan.

Sasha had said no such thing about the man being dangerous -- herself, on the other hand, had pegged him volatile the moment he put a bullet in a man's head while still on the clock. Who _did_ that?

Everything she said that day was scrutinized and pulled apart, even as she put on her most convincing bullshit tone when reciting Sasha's impromptu story. It hadn't been an ideal situation, as the con happened a few weeks before it was meant to go off, but they learned to make do. When her sister had detailed her persona on the spot, her mind had worked overtime to craft the best false identity of Lidia Strauss.

August hadn't seemed impressed with her performance, always peering at her with a barely concealed suspicion and asking more questions than he answered. As polite as he could be, he was very much a bandit, seeming in a constant battle between genuine wariness and asserting himself. When he shot an apparent family friend in the head in front of them both, she had come to a simple conclusion -- get this man away from her sister and fast. That she felt this way about the majority of men her sister had to get involved with was a minor detail.

So seeing him defending Sasha, after she had used and discarded him like an old cleaning rod, was...unexpected.

It was hard not to feel a little sorry for the man. Trust was difficult to build. Even more difficult to lose. Whether or not her sympathy had to do with her and Sasha being betrayed mere days ago by the guy who raised them, well...she didn't want to think too hard about it. She didn't want to get too softhearted, what with the gun and cluster of well-trained bandits still ready to put a bullet in her chest if she didn't comply. Even then...

"Look...it hurts getting stabbed in the back." She said, carefully. August looked up from the ground, eyebrows raised. "Especially by someone you care about." The con artist wanted to say more, but she was beginning to feel she had already shared too much.

"Yeah! It...I mean." He coughed and looked to the side, seemingly embarrassed by his outburst. "Yeah." Fiona cocked her head. While loathe to admit it, she was starting to get an idea why her sister had warmed up to him in the first place.

With a quick motion he moved from where he had been leaning against the wall, holding the gun up to her and giving it a little flick for emphasis. Turning around, she continued to walk down the hall. "I just...I just need some reassurances." He said, casually, even as it was painfully clear to both of them that he was anything but. "That it was just about the money and nothing else. Relationships have to be built on trust. I don't know if I can take Sasha back without it."

Fiona's mind worked overtime as it put the pieces together. The only certainty was that Sasha got in the way of his better judgement. If that were the case, she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

"...You two should just talk." She said, adding a light shrug to her words. "Clear the air, see where it gets you."

Whatever way she could get her sister out alive, she would take it. It was clear the history that ran between the two was deeper than she had given credit for. Whether or not Sasha felt the same way wasn't what mattered at the moment. Survival, followed very closely by loot, _always_ came first.

"Yeah..." He said, his voice soft as they entered the opening of the Gortys room, the soft twinkle of lights greeting them like stars. "We should do that."

\--

"How will they even build my tombstone? Do they even _do_ tombstones on Pandora? I'll probably get turned into a scarecrow or something. Propped up on someone's car like a decoration. Yeah, that sounds about right."

The con woman watched Vaughn fidget and twitch, looking this way and that, muttering incessantly to himself. The accountant was truly out of his element, standing off to the side while his partner deciphered the Atlas technology and attempting (and failing) to use Loader Bot to get rid of Vasquez. At least he was coming off as completely useless -- the element of surprise was one of the few things they had on their side.

One of the guards had taken the Atlas Silver she nabbed back at the abandoned office and she had to call upon every ounce of willpower in her repertoire not to jump onto the man's shoulders and box his ears in. It had been a near _reverent_ find, one of the few bright spots in the past shitty day and a half. Not only was it a model she would be lucky to run into again, if ever, it was something for her to focus on while everything went to hell in a handbasket. A good-luck charm, even. She wished with all her heart she could have held onto it longer.

A glance to her right showed Fiona and Rhys below, talking and gesturing in deep conversation. She jerked slightly as August brushed past her a moment later, brows furrowed, hands deep in his pockets. Where others would read him as pissed and steer clear she instead saw a virulently anxious man, inwardly fussing over something or another. If the past day was any indication, it was everything and a half. A part of her wanted to hold him. Another part of her wanted to kick him in the shin. The man _knew_ they were in similar positions. Poor and destitute Pandorans desperate for a reprieve. A better life. If anybody should have an inkling of sympathy, it was the guy who was constantly in-between a rock and a hard place trying to please his temperamental boss, run a business and live to see the next morning.

Her stomach sank as she realized...maybe he didn't know. Maybe he was doubting even that. Doubting everything they had gone through. Whether or not he saw an entirely different person, though...there was something in his eyes, even through the palpable rage. Pain. Confusion. Denial. When he leaned back and crossed his arms, catching her gaze for a heartstopping second at a time, she knew he was looking at the same Sasha. Wondering why the hell she would hurt him like this.

The con woman didn't have time to dwell. She couldn't afford to. The already paltry list of people she could trust had grown even shorter in the past few days -- not only had she lost her father, not to a bullet or an illness like she had always predicted, but to _greed_ , she had to watch the subtle emotional breakdown of a man she loved. At her own hand, no less. Compartmentalizing her energy was essential after the conga line of clusterfucks that had become her life literally overnight. Getting out of the facility with her head still attached to her neck, sister in tow, was first and foremost in her mind. When in doubt she turned inward, shutting her emotions off like a faucet and twisting off the handle, future interpersonal repercussions be damned.

So she focused on the situation ahead of her, peering through the murky window at Rhys and Fiona fiddling with the strange technology below, even as her thoughts kept creeping backwards toward that terrible moment when Fiona told her what had happened in the caravan in her absence. August would look at her, occasionally, his expression strangely unreadable. It was difficult not to think of that playful smile before he left. How even through her anger it had still warmed a part of her soul.

Without warning Atlas robots swarmed around them like hornets. Alarms were howling throughout the chamber, red shadows bouncing off the walls and descending the already grisly room into the seventh level of hell. Vasquez's green eyes bulged in shock, his goons looking to him helplessly for an order. The con woman couldn't hear her sister through the window, but she _did_ hear the sudden buzz of drones as they flew ever closer, lights crowding her vision. The entire room feel like a waking nightmare.

Then August turned and pointed his pistol at her.

Sasha stared past the barrel, catching his gaze and holding it in what felt like the first time in a long time. She wanted to ask: ' _Are you seriously doing the obsessive boyfriend routine?_ ' She wanted to ask: ' _Do you have any idea how **boned** we all are?_ ' What came out of her mouth instead was: "...This is ridiculous and you know it, summer boy."

He matched her gaze with a resentful scowl, breaking it only to give the two below a warning glance. As far as she could tell nobody knew what the hell these robots were planning to do or why, only that the activity of the hostages below had triggered something bad and they were now given a front-row seat to one of the rarest and most obscene deaths ever conceived. Vasquez had a gun to Vaughn's head, face twisted in a petulant snarl. Sasha had never pegged August a desperate man, but it was only in that strangely serene moment did she truly consider the absurdity of trying to salvage the situation by holding her hostage all over again. Like trying to juggle water.

"I'm just saying, it's pretty impressive you're putting on the hardcore goon persona now when we're all probably going to be filled with more holes than swiss cheese." She said, unable to keep from laughing as drones swooped around them like angry rakks.

August had pulled his pistol away, eyes flaring, caught in the moment as he snapped, "Do you have _any_ idea what this deal meant to me? What _you_ meant to me?"

"Oh god...oh _no_..." Vaughn muttered, clutching his hands in front of his face, twisting uncomfortably in his boss' grip. The con woman ignored the clutching of her heart as August yelled, dimming it to a vague throbbing not unlike a headache or a palpitation.

Sasha raised her hands into the air, not wanting to give the bandits or the drones or anything else that felt like killing her that day any more bright ideas. "You know what that deal meant to me, August."

He leveled his pistol again, shoulders trembling, his voice as calm as if they were back at the bar talking about broken shot glasses. "Tell me it was all bullshit. Just _tell_ me. I want to hear it from you."

They stared each other down, looking over the cold gray of the pistol into eyes disenchanted and yearning and back again. There was no clutching of fear in her throat, the faintest inkling of unease or anticipation. Even through anger, the chilling rage that made his eyes as pale as anything she had ever seen, all he seemed was utterly, completely lost.

And she wasn't far behind.

The windows separating her group from Fiona and Rhys shattered. Screams filled the air as Sasha hit the floor, instinctively curling into a ball as shards danced around her, the bandits' voices howling in shock or pain or both. August was limp on the ground, blood pooling around his shoulder. Fiona's voice barely broke through the ringing in her ears.

The mob boss had reached for his pistol, heaving himself onto his elbow to aim at the Atlas drones that milled through the now naked pane. Both hostages were now eye level with the room, Rhys moving his cyborg arm in some bizarre pantomime, his eye glowing a vivid yellow she'd never seen before. Drones hovered and milled about him like obedient hounds. Fiona gaped in shock beside him, possibly more confused than she was. The connection was obvious, like some freakish puppet show, even as her mind twisted itself into knots attempting to reason with what she was seeing. How the _fuck_ was he controlling them?

Sasha covered her head again as the droids fired, only to feel her skin ripple in relief as every single shot missed. Vasquez's arm was shot clean off, landing with a meaty thud in front of her, August crying out as one of the shots hit him in the shoulder. Instincts kicking in she bolted to her feet, leaping over the dismembered limb and snatching the man's dropped gun. Even the concern that clawed at her heels couldn't break through the fury that he had pulled a gun on her mere moments ago. Even if it was just a show he had no intention of seeing through to the end.

She had to get her sister to safety. Everything, and everyone, else came second.

Firing every last round she could into either the drones or surrounding bandits, she snatched another gun off a dead body and jumped behind the statue for cover. Her relieved smile quickly dissolved into a frown as Rhys and Fiona huddled inches away, Vaughn's rigid body at their feet like bizarre cargo. The man wasn't moving a muscle.

"Holy crap, what happened to _him?_ " She gasped. The accountant mumbled frantically, eyes flicking back and forth in terror.

"You still breathing?" Rhys yelled at his friend, stiffening as a body flew past the statue and hit the ground in front of him. Sasha tried not to look at their face -- the last thing she wanted to do was feel bad for the people that had viewed her as nothing more than a tool seconds ago.

The Atlas statue collapsed in a heap of rubble as she and her sister shot the ankles, simultaneously breaking open the door they came in through. Loader Bot swooped in and gathered them into its arms like children, using its jets to boost through the hallway and toward the exit. She looked over the chaos as best she could for August, barely glimpsing him crouching beside the door frame, one arm soaked red with blood.

Gravel came up in a blur. Sasha barely missed chipping a tooth as she covered her head and rolled with the fall. She didn't think her day could get any worse.

As she pulled herself back to her feet, brushing off dirt and checking for any broken bones, she inwardly chided her lack of faith.

\--

August clutched his shoulder, ducking beneath a drone, the light of the exit glaring like a glimpse into heaven. He barely managed to scramble out into the sunlight on all fours when a bullet whizzed over his head, then another, then _another_.

Seeing his mother standing beside his truck surrounded by bandits, flanked by Finch and Kroger, made him want to turn around and run back inside. Judging by the look on Vasquez's face, he was thinking something similar.

"Okay, okay. I know how it looks. Things got a little messed up, but I..." He began, only for his mother to snap.

" _Shut up_. I'll deal with you later." It wasn't a threat so much as a promise. August stopped in his tracks, watching his mother interrogate Fiona with what he hoped was a decent handle on the palpable dread he was feeling.

"Who is it, Fiona?" She asked. "I want a _name_." Vasquez opened his mouth to argue. August risked angering his mother again in an attempt to placate him. Somehow the situation felt more precarious than the disaster they just left behind them.

His blood ran cold when Fiona looked him dead in the eye and said, "It was _August's_ fault."

"Really?" Vallory whispered, looking between them. Silence hung in the air like a bad omen. All he could hear was his own pulse, the occasional drop of blood that left his fingertips and soaked the hard ground by his feet. Then..."Son. Come over here."

"That's your _mom_?" Sasha asked, breaking the silence, tugging on her goggles as she always did when she sensed danger. August's anger rose and dipped as all eyes turned his way, both his fellows and the group relieved the blame found an acceptable target. He kept his gaze on his mother as he approached, resisting the urge to send daggers Fiona's way; no doubt Sasha's sister was seeking to kill two birds with one stone. Perhaps get him back for holding them hostage not minutes ago. The bullet in his shoulder, bleeding fresh, throbbed plaintively.

He held up his hands, pleadingly. "Look, ma..."

She wasn't having it. "You go behind my back and make _another_ mess." His mother growled, stopping his words dead in their tracks. August wrung his hands together, an impulsive act, feeling his spine quail in light of consequence. "Now I have to clean up after you." The only thing that could be heard was the awkward shuffling of her bandits and the whistle of the wind winding its way through the ghost town. She sighed, shaking her head. "Story of my life." August lowered his head submissively...then gasped as she reached up and tore out his nose piercing.

" _Agh!_ "

He struggled to spit out a curse, only managing a furious, " _Ma!_ ". Embarrassment and fear mixed sickly in the pit of his stomach when she pointed at the truck and rasped,

"Now go and think about what you've done." He had been wrong. This wasn't a shitshow -- there wasn't a word for whatever _this_ was. He glanced over his shoulder at Sasha, her brows crinkled in confusion, then slowly made his way to the car. His mother had never failed to treat him like a child. It never mattered to her that he was leaving his twenties, nor that he had helped keep the gang running since he first quit brawling. Standing beside his truck, rubbing blood from his nose, he crossed his arms and observed the scene before him.

"Look, I know you're super pissed..." The man began, walking up to Vallory's turned back. August narrowed his eyes. Was the man a _complete_ idiot? "But we've got the Gortys thing and it's going to get us something worth _way_ more than ten million dollars." He pleaded, gesturing with his remaining arm. "It's fine! We're _fine!_ " Even at a distance he could see Sasha's green eyes flicking back and forth between the two, shifting from foot to foot. His mother knelt and picked up the orb.

"So _this_ is what all the fuss is about."

"Yep. That's our little money-maker." The boss said, a note of triumph working its way even through the pained strain of his voice. "Oh." His mother said, tucking the ball under her arm and looking thoughtful. August knew what was going to come next, leaning back against the car door, the Hyperion ladderclimber's eyes bulging in terror when Vallory added casually,

"Then I guess I don't need you anymore."

Birds scattered as a gunshot rang through the air. Vasquez hit the ground with a gaping hole in his chest, blood flowering the ground a nasty red. Fiona gasped in horror, the others cringing and taking a step backward. August shifted idly, adjusting his battered gloves. He couldn't say he cared much -- the man was an asshole, and not a particularly bright one at that, now reduced to one less jackass ordering him around. Vallory had never been particularly fond of Hyperion, either. It was probably as cathartic as it looked.

When his mother aimed her gun at Fiona and the group, the momentary victory turned to ice in his veins.

She only _just_ knew about Sasha. That she was a part-time worker at his bar. An occasional name in the swirl of information that cluttered their daily lifestyle. That she had screwed them both out of ten million dollars and was _now_ running around with a group of people keen on obtaining the vault's treasures without her. Any and all warm memories about Sasha were his and his alone. All she saw were four obstacles...and she was going to kill them all.

Fear glued his legs to the ground, even as his chest turned white-hot with dread. ' _No..._ ' He thought, mind racing with possibilities as she raised her pistol and aimed directly at Fiona.

Like a bat out of hell Athena jumped in-between the two, deflecting the bullet with her shield and sending his mother flying backwards with a well-placed jab. Bandits dropped like flies as it flew around the open space like a vengeful rakk, nearly clipping him in the head as he ducked behind the truck. Standing up shakily, sunglasses broken on the dirty ground, his mother had pulled out a knife, rage evident in the furious shivering of her shoulders. The bloodbath that was being promised would make the scene in the Atlas facility look like a practical joke.

"Not _here!_ " He yelled, running up to her. "We got to go." All breathing seemed to be put on hold as she deliberated over this, looking from him to Athena.

"...This isn't over." His mother said, slowly walking backwards in direction of the truck.

"You're the one leaving!" Athena called, the disdain in her eyes evident even under the shadow of her hood. "Looks _over_ to me."

"Oh, no." Vallory responded smoothly. "It'll feel much different than this. I'll let you know when it happens."

The moment she got into the car August slammed on the gas, peeling out of the abandoned city and heading straight toward the surrounding outlands. Rumbling engines gradually caught up behind him, signaling the rest of the gang's pursuit. He was grateful for his gloves, sweat prickling his palms as he maneuvered past rocks and potholes.

"Seems your girlfriend had a few tricks up her sleeve." Vallory murmured, putting on a spare pair of shades from the glovebox. "Sasha, was it?" She chuckled at his silence, settling back into the seat and gazing out at the sands. "I saw the way you looked at her."

She sounded the name like a curse. He gripped the steering wheel, nearly biting on his tongue to keep from retorting. His skin was still crawling with goosebumps, intrusive thoughts of Sasha's rapidly decaying body forever being left in the ghost town flashing before his eyes like a horror film. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the facility was nearly out of sight, their surroundings dissolving into long stretches of open road.

"Now that Vasquez is out of the picture, how do you want us to handle this?" He said, circumventing the question as calmly as he could. It was the closest she ever got to mercy, dropping the subject and pulling a cigarette out of her coat pocket.

"They have a Vault Hunter on their side, for starters..." Vallory mused, reaching for the glove box. She idly flicked on the radio, only to frown at the static. "You still haven't fixed this?"

August rounded a turn, the town now completely vanished from view. "You thinking of Mordecai? ...And no, I haven't."

It was short notice, but they had both the money and the pull to get on top of a Vault Hunter's to-do list. Getting to cover and pulling out her phone, she began the tedious process of calling a friend of an acquantaince of a friend. While he wasn't about to say it to her face, he was pretty impressed when he heard Brick's voice over the phone in a mere matter of minutes.

Brick was a powerhouse, notorious for his near inhuman ability to lay waste to anything living or inanimate with hardly a second thought (or any thoughts at all, if the rumors were true). Athena was famous for a reason. Millions of dollars were on the line and it simply wasn't worth risking failure on top of failure. Not when they were already neck deep. The vault hunter had proved highly cooperative, almost sounding giddy over the phone at the prospect of getting to fight a legend. Whatever history they had with one another must be a monster of a tale, as he agreed to meet them within the same day.

Mordecai was in a similar boat, much to his mother's barely constrained delight. With another few calls and a few smokes, the rendezvous was planned and the waiting game began. Arrow sat with him by the truck as vehicles were refilled and repaired, bandaging his arm and prying for details. He didn't say a word, watching the proceedings before him as he lay on his truck's hood.

' _She thinks you're dangerous._ '

' _You know what this deal meant to me, August._ '

' _You two should just talk. Clear the air, see where it gets you._ '

Their words rolled in and out of his mind, the sick hand of doubt wrapping around his heart with a vice-like grip.

Fiona's words were a band-aid, and he knew it, but denial was one hell of a drug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where I'll start incorporating scenes from the game here and there, on top of canon _and_ unused dialogue I found incredibly interesting. It's amazing (and a _real_ shame) how much juicy shit was cut out of the final product. I was as high as a kid on Christmas when I dug up old audio file posts. 
> 
> also lol updating this fic in the month of August insert joke here


	9. Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking what you can get is the wisdom of Pandora. What do you do when you're given more than you can handle?

Evening settled into Hollow Point lethargically, the only hint toward the outside world's day patterns the fluctuating colors of the cave vents. Groggy air softened, cool winds from outside filtering the chemicals in and out, the only time the city would shed its normal shivering temperatures in favor of a pleasant chill that almost felt warm. Smoke from cars and foodshops alike began to drift on the breeze, acidic and mouthwatering, heralding the arrival of nighttime alongside the bats that began to stir and flutter between the spiretops. A part-time worker sat on the roof of the downtown district's main bar, swinging her feet over the edge and watching the proceedings below with a disinterested eye.

"I know, I know. We've been low on bread for a while. On the bright side, a regular paycheck isn't half bad. I could get used to this, Fi."

Residents began milling in and out of the buildings underneath like cave worms, sluggish yet focused, hardly stopping except to haggle a stranger. Fiona had called her on her break, now used to her schedule and popping in on less inopportune times to check on her or share the latest events of the day. The con woman's free time was a little short due to the additional workload, so she had to be mindful not to get sucked into yet another conversation about the latest radio episode of 'Notorious F.I.G.'. As _horrendously_ cheesy the drama was, the sisters found themselves getting hooked on the increasingly absurd situations the main characters ended up in every other chapter -- it was worth a listen or twelve, if only to mock the voice acting and latest deus ex machina plot twist.

"Yeah. I'll hit up the market before I come back home. Think you can make dinner tonight? My arms are killing me." The con woman said, phone nestled in the crook of her neck as she gathered up spare nails and shoved them into her pockets.

Fiona snorted. _'Let me guess...a sandwich with a side of sandwich?'_

A door creaked below. "Hey. I _like_ sandwiches." Sasha replied, stung, double-checking her handiwork before walking to the edge of the roof. "Anyway, I need to go. I'll see you tonight, all right? You'll have plenty of time to reconsider your food blasphemy." She hopped onto the ground, right in front of August carrying a stack of boxes. He had ditched his usual vest in lieu of an old t-shirt, the logo nearly incomprehensible from age; judging by the faint outline of an upside-down head, it was likely a souvenir from a local concert.

"Holy shit." He breathed, swaying to keep his cargo from tipping over. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." The young woman smiled apologetically, reaching over to steady the load. From the clinks and clanks inside, it sounded like a mess of silverware.

"Sorry, Autumn." She responded, with feeling. "I was actually going to ask..."

The bar had been going through multiple renovations over the weeks. Her leg had healed up magnificently thanks to Shebbra's handiwork, limp all but reduced to a bad memory -- she even had a new scar to show off -- and thus enabling her to help out in-between shifts and trips in the caravan. While the business didn't have a lot of trouble getting decent revenue (regulars didn't care what the place _looked_ like as long as it got them staggering drunk), she and August still found themselves working overtime cleaning and refilling stock that had been pilfered or ruined -- there always seemed to be another surprise around the corner from that hectic night, be it a nest of baby rats in the bathroom or a hastily buried severed hand beneath the floorboards in the attic. Thinking back to the time-consuming chore of hammering nails and sweeping glass, she realized it was a rather good way to spend time together.

_"Your full name is Augustus?" She had gasped, nearly hitting her thumb as she brought the hammer down. "Tell anyone and you're fired." He growled from across the roof. "Don't worry." She pounded the nail dutifully into the wood, even as she bit her lip to stop the fit of giggles. "I'm going to try and forget this conversation even happened."_

August frowning around his stack of boxes brought her back to reality. "The hole in the roof is good to go. I need to hit the marketplace before it closes." The con woman said, relieving him of the uppermost packages and holding them against her chest. "You want to come with? You've been at this for _hours_." She walked with him around the back of the building, careful not to step on the bits of broken glass and splinters that still littered the ground. Sweeping really didn't get enough credit.

"There's so much that needs to be done, though." He answered, pursing his lips in thought as he set down his cargo and ran fingers through mussed hair. The mob boss had shown incredible tenacity all morning long, patching leaks and burning trash and sweet-talking grumpy customers as easy as blinking -- the con woman had been hesitant to leave him during a sudden afternoon rush, even as he stressed the importance of her taking a moment to rest and recoup. While she had been grateful at the time, his flushed skin and messy hair betrayed him, looking more and more to Sasha's eyes like he was two more hammered nails from passing out facefirst on the Purple Skag's front steps.

It was a few moments before he reached a conclusion, looking over the mess of boxes and trash with a tired eye. "...Yeah. Yeah, let's do that. I _do_ need to get some supplies." He turned and looked over his shoulder. "Tector!" He yelled. "We're closing up!" A screwdriver waved in the air in reply. The bouncer had proved rather useful in basic construction, provided they didn't take their eyes off him for more than a few minutes at a time -- man had already compromised three fingers within the same day. Grabbing his jacket from inside and locking the front door behind him, August jogged over to where she stood at the crosswalk.

Circumventing a cab ride to save change, they strolled through the downtown market from its main entrance, a cluster of flea shops and vendors peppered throughout the lowermost dip of Hollow Point's cave. Sasha normally visited once per week, usually to grab basic foodstuffs or minor equipment -- she was familiar with many of the stallowners and made it a point to be on top of the best deals (and most affable merchants). While nabbing a ware or two that wasn't under a sharp eye was always on the table, she tried to do it as sparingly as possible; robbing people one was acquaintances with, directly or not, always made her skin itch. Mindful of the cramped space the pair began to huddle together, shoulders brushing occasionally -- Sasha felt an affectionate thrill whenever August lay a hand on the small of her back in response to the thickening crowd.

"We need..." He started, bumping someone away as they shoved too close and squinting at his list. "A few things for the new menu as well as the old..." Sasha peered at his scrawl, frowning as she was greeted with what looked like a foreign language. "

Yeah, I can't read a word of that." To her surprise he smirked, just a touch smugly.

"Good." She cocked her head for an explanation. "Harder for people to spy on me that way." He explained lightly, tucking the sheet into his notebook. While it was tempting to sneak a peek into the journal he never seemed to set down, she resisted -- he had his secrets, she had hers.

"Fruit for martinis, bread and oil for the menu, bandages for Tector's hands..." August muttered, scratching his chin and looking this way and that for an opening in the throng of people. Peering over the mass of heads, Sasha spotted a photography booth squished in-between a machine tool shop and what seemed to be a fortune-telling table. It was filled with portraits and full-body shots, many of the poses threatening and silly in equal measure. The quality was better than Felix's, even at a distance in the uncertain market lighting.

With a surreptitious adjustment to her top-bun, she turned and tugged on August's arm. "Come on. Let's take a photo first."

"You serious? I look like shit." He grumbled, digging his heels into the ground when she pulled on his arm again.

"Oh my _god_ , August." She sighed. "You look fine!" He raised his eyebrows at her, mouth in an unimpressed line. Sasha gestured dramatically. "You look very, _very_ fine."

The bandit rolled his eyes. "I suppose that's the best I'll get." The con woman chewed on her lip for a moment. _'_

 _Ho, don't do it.'_ Her subconscious warned. "I _could_ go into how cute your hair is when you let it get messy." She started, shoving that little voice away and folding arms behind her back coquettishly. "Or how perfectly that t-shirt hugs your figure."

She felt a triumphant twinge in her chest as his pale cheeks flushed pink. "Uh." He said, numbly. "That's...that's plenty." There was something truly special about the unique effect one could have on a person, especially when it outright contradicted something they didn't do. August was a proud individual (perhaps more than she was), fastidious as a cat with his appearance, constantly grooming and double-checking and walking around with the faintest hint of a self-absorbed swagger. Even in his more casual wear he never took off his bling, swapping his usual nose ring for a septum piercing with a touch of brass in its tone. Seeing him somewhat more relaxed had made her day. Catching him off guard made her _week_.

The photographer was putting on a brave show, never ceasing in waving and calling to passerbys, doing the best she could to flag down customers either too hurried or too broke to give her services a look. Her booth was a modest one, hardly more than a box in the menagerie of wooden stands and filled near to bursting with portfolio examples. It then became Sasha's turn to feel her tongue turn thick -- when she thought about it, a photo opportunity had to be one of the most clichéd ways of cementing a relationship as official, right outside buying a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates. In fact, it was so cheesy it slipped under her radar entirely. And yet...

Sasha turned and smiled up at him. "Please?"

August frowned, eyes flicking from her face to the photographer and back again in what seemed to be an internal war with his own vanity and the cute display she was putting on. It wasn't the pressure of asking in front of the stall owner or even her pearly whites that swayed him, it seemed, but the disappointment that must have glinted in her eyes when she acquiesced. "Don't worry about it, summer boy." She said, as lightly as she could. He put a hand on her shoulder before she could fully turn around.

"Wait, just...wait. Fine. Let's do it." He said, running fingers through his hair and causing his bangs to curl over his brows. Sasha had to look away before her own cheeks betrayed her.

"Hey, how much for a photo?" She asked the booth owner.

The older woman's relief disappeared quickly as she winked at her. "Couple out for a stroll, huh?"

Sasha held back a laugh; no doubt August's face was red as a beet at this point. "Uh, yeah. Exactly." The con woman resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, chest pleasantly aflutter at the situation she had roped both of them into. Pushing aside a stack of papers and pulling out a stool, the photographer set her camera into place and pulled off the covering. It was a fascinating creation, all aged and worn browns, probably even older than she was. August stepped into the booth gingerly, attempting to keep his hair from catching on one of the hanging photos.

Sasha hooked an arm around his neck as he bent down. "Say cheese!"

August stiffened. "Why 'cheese'? I never got tha-"

Lights flashed. Their photo curled out, Sasha's glowing grin and August's confused profile forever immortalized in sepia browns.

"Oh. I fucked that _up_." He whispered in horror.

Sasha grinned. "It's _perfect_. I'm keeping it."

He tried to snatch it out of her hands, only for her to dance away. "Sash!" He growled, reaching for it again. She risked bumping into the crowd of people to get out of range, sticking her tongue out for good measure.

He threw his hands up in defeat. " _Fine_. At least let me have a photo, too."

The photographer was more than willing to oblige them. Sasha decided to put on a silly expression, to give their memories of the day a little variety...that is, until he kissed her cheek right as the camera flashed. Sasha studied her face in the photo as it developed. ' _Well, shit_.' The con woman thought, even as she gave August a playful shove and told him he was still trying to hide his bedhead. She stared at the photo when they left and he haggled with a nearby vendor over bruised fruit, again when he met with a past acquaintance and got a decent deal on cooking supplies. Again and again she pulled it out, observing it, turning it this way and that in the light. There was no lie that could cover the gentle dimpling of her smile, the sincere glow that lit up her face.

They managed to find the last stall on the list before the marketplace closed. With his attention turned toward the stall owner and their wares, she let herself stare at the man, the surrounding lanterns curving out his outline in the growing dark.

_'I think I'm falling for him.'_

\--

Taking the backroads to circumvent the worst of the crowd (the cave brats were throwing rusty gears at passerbys from the rooftops again), they walked close to one another as they moved away from the muggy market air into the surrounding cold, arms filled to bursting with the day's loot. While she wanted to sneak in a drakefruit, there was always the possibility of being watched. The con woman had been mugged in the past, even if it was becoming an increasingly distant memory, and she knew how grabby people could be at the mere sight of food. So she kept her head level, making small talk with August and keeping a close eye on her peripheral vision, even as her stomach growled plaintively.

Lights flicked on as they approached. The complex was covered in what seemed like hundreds of windows, rising above the tin roofs in a mess of crooked stories. Music could be heard blaring above, shadows flickering in and out of one of the uppermost panes. "If they don't shut that shit off when it gets late..." August growled under his breath, shifting his bags to rummage around in his pocket; a few moments' unsuccessful digging made him sigh, looking around for a place to set down his food, pausing when Sasha reached into his pant leg and pulled out his keys. He snorted in amusement as she hopped on one leg, other bag held in the crook between her knee and thigh to better toss the key and catch it between her teeth.

Elbowing in the password on the complex's keypad, August slipped in before the front door shut, Sasha following close behind. The locks clicked harshly behind the two, yellowing wallpaper and a long stretch of wooden flooring greeting them -- judging by the way the walls trembled in time to the bass above, they were paper-thin at best. A bandit leaned against the far side of the hallway, nodding once August's way before turning back to their cigarette. After a few clicks and a soft squeak he opened his apartment door, the scent of weed brushing against her nose as she stepped inside. It was a modestly sized lodge and rather clean; considering the cramped single-room of the caravan and the _barely_ larger size of their temp space, she couldn't help but study her surroundings with a hint of awe. So _this_ was what living alone was like.

A leather couch in the corner with a side table, another table covered in gun parts and cleaning supplies...it was nicely well-furbished. Setting down the bags in the little kitchen that separated the living room from the front door, she wondered what other perks came with being part of an established gang. With a gasp she walked over to the kitchen counter. "You have a _plant_?" August tossed his jacket onto the couch, turning and smiling at her reaction.

"Yeah. One of my business partners travels a lot. Brought me some seeds as a gift. Wait, don't-" It was an interesting little thing, a green cactus coated in bright orange flowers -- she yanked her hand back when the petals snapped at her fingers. "Yeah, it...bites." He said, biting his lip to hold back laughter.

"You _would_ keep a plant that bites." She scoffed, flipping him off. There was so much one could learn from a person's living spaces, though so far she hadn't been told anything she didn't already know -- clean and practical and a little weird. Just like August. It wasn't until she saw a cluster of small figurines in the corner of the kitchen counter did she raise her eyebrows.

"Woah, hey, don't touch that." She paused, looking over her shoulder at him. "Sorry." He muttered, running fingers through his hair. "They're just...fragile. That's all." They were humanoid robots of varying shapes and sizes, with more colors than she could count. The intrusive thought to pocket one popped in her head, startling her. It was a thieves' instinct, as common as breathing, but her skin crawled with wrongdoing -- even knowing the truth undercutting their relationship, she couldn't help but feel a little wretched.

"Where'd you get these?" She asked, brushing away her thoughts and peering at a model with metal wings sprouting from its shoulders. Rustling bags signaled he was back sorting out the groceries.

"I didn't." He responded. "They were a...also a gift." His tone was odd to her ears, heavy with deeper meaning. Nodding slowly, even though his back was to her, she looked back at their designs. They reminded her of action movies she'd glimpsed in passing. One had bold black and yellow coloration, its name on the very tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth to ask, only to stop when he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Sorry, Sash." He said, picking up one of the bags and opening a cupboard. "Just...not used to having people over. Make yourself comfortable."

Sasha offered him a smile. "No, I get it. I don't have a lot of people over myself."

The man cursed when one of the cans fell from his full arms; she bent to pick it up, only to curse herself as the photo they took earlier fluttered out of her pocket. "Okay, there's a word for this." She grumbled as she stood up again with the can.

August snorted and bent down. "Yeah. A mess." Their two smiling faces were held gently in his hand, glinting ever so faintly in the kitchen light.

"Good to know you blush, too." He muttered, eyes flicking back and forth.

The con woman scoffed and busied herself with unloading the bags. "I don't blush." There were a few extra foodstuffs, she noticed, bundles of potatoes and strips of jerky likely to pad out his cabinet. She set them aside from the Purple Skag's inventory of fruits, pausing as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"You're blushing now."

Sasha turned to face him, eyebrows raised. "Is that a threat, summer bo-"

Her breath caught as he kissed her.

There was something to be said about movie make-out scenes. They were always framed in gaussian blurs, surrounded by swells of dramatic music and elaborate scenery plucked to the last pristine detail. 'A Cup Of Brimstone' had practically embodied every last insufferable romantic cliche possible, lingering even somehow in her mind long after she had left the doctor's office and kicked up her feet in the caravan. Sasha had reconciled it was the addicting part of corny fantasy, a tiny slice of manufactured perfection not unlike a sweet tart or a good beer. Easy. Silly. A treat that could be kept long after it was tasted.

Her first kiss with August, hand carving a warm pattern onto her cheek in the dim light of his apartment...movies couldn't compare.

Warm surprise had delayed her reaction, for the bandit had pulled back, whether out of confusion or respect she couldn't immediately discern. Sasha slowly opened her eyes, feeling her chest clutch at his expression; mouth twisted in a not-quite-frown, brows knitted in what could only be read as uneasy. Her arms slid around his neck of their own volition, holding his gaze -- this vulnerability was like an egg, just as fragile as it was full of potential. One wrong move and she could leave cracks that would never fade. _'Cracks I **will** leave that will never fade,'_ her subconscious whispered.

She pressed her mouth firmly against his.

The man's shoulders relaxed in one long, physical sigh. Calloused fingers tickled her scalp as he cradled her head to better curve his mouth against hers, breath hot and still tinged with alcohol. She let him guide her, even as she pressed against him, the weak and uncertain barriers that had existed between them melting away as if they were never there. Her hands slid down his chest, fingers rising and dipping along his abs, reaching around his narrow hips to squeeze his ass. August chuckled, faintly, sucking on her bottom lip.

He pulled her away from the table, then, still kissing her, still roaming his hands along her sides and waist and back as if discovering her for the first time. The con woman didn't need to be told twice, the couch already forming a vivid picture in her mind; she had been a little too eager, however, bumping his hip into the corner of the kitchen wall as they moved a backwards shuffle toward the living room.

" _Mmph_." He mumbled into her mouth.

"Sorry...sor...." She started to whisper, pulling back, only for him to tilt his head and slip his tongue into her mouth. The con woman clutched his belt with one hand, the other groping behind her to find the arm of the sofa as they rotated a tipsy pirouette, neither wanting to pull away for even a second.

_'This is bad.'_

Hand greeted cool leather, squeaking faintly as she knelt down. Sasha kicked off her shoes, August responding in kind -- she sank into the cushions, inching her head back, relishing how eagerly he explored her body, picking up where they left off at Hollow Venue and pushing her shirt up to her neck. The con woman sighed as he sucked on her nipple, tugging it hungrily between his teeth; he backed off when she let out a sharp gasp, running a soothing tongue over the reddened skin. She wriggled her shirt the rest of the way off and let it drop onto the floor behind her, toes curling in anticipation as he kissed and licked his way to her navel, wet trail tingling from hot to cold in the open air.

_'This is really, really bad.'_

Sasha swallowed a groan as he kissed between her legs, gently at first, then firmer, breath beating a hot pattern against her panties. He hummed his pleasure, vibration rumbling against her inner thigh, no doubt pleased at how wet she already was. She was trembling a little in her excitement, like some silly virgin at an afterparty. She knew. She didn't care. Certainly not when he slid off her pants, nor when the apartment's cool air suddenly brushed bare against her crotch.

Any and all roving thoughts ground to a screeching halt. Her mind clung pleasantly to the way his goatee tickled her, making her skin jump at every little sensation. How his hands would return again and again to her hips, her ass. It wasn't until he pushed her panties up her thighs and slid his tongue inside her did she finally make a sound.

"Oh, _shit_...okay." She breathed, sinking back and grinding teeth into her lip. The con woman wanted nothing more than to look down, how incredible he must look in the low lighting, but the sensations dancing up and down her spine crushed her eyes shut and pressed her cheek deep into the couch's leather. A calloused hand gripped her thigh, angling her hips back to better dip and swirl his tongue inside her, pulling out only to lap at her clit. Somehow her hand found his hair, fingers squeezing and tangling the already messy blonde locks. Even in her haze, it was clear he wanted to do this for a _long_ time.

Only when he moved on top of her did she realize how hard she had closed her eyes, stars twinkling in her vision. Sasha tasted her arousal as he kissed her, languid yet fervid all at once. Her hands roamed greedily along the muscles cording his arms, a frown curving her mouth when she got to his shirt. He smiled against her lips, pulling back to yank the tee over his head and toss it over his shoulder. Sasha ducked her head coyly, drinking in every lean inch of him, noting the scars that wrapped around his ribs and the smattering of freckles that peeked out of the blonde hair below his navel. So he _did_ have more.

She wanted to undress him, but she also wanted to watch; seeing those stony blue eyes low-lidded with ease, the usual heavy purple of the Skag's main lighting replaced with the gentle orange of the couch's side-table lamp...it was almost dreamlike. It made her mind clumsy with lust, possibilities rising and popping like beer fizz about all the things she wanted to do to the man. It must have shown on her face, as he chuckled, a mischievous crook to his mouth as he worked off his belt.

"What, trying to make me blush again?" The man's breath hitched as clever fingers slid into his jeans, teasingly, another hand pressing against his stomach and pushing him back onto the couch beneath her.

She wasn't _that_ out of her element.

Sasha slid on top of him, straddling his hips and teasing her thigh around his cock. Teeth scraped as they kissed again, feverishly, the bumping and pounding of the neighbor's music fading to an implication. August was hard as hell, grinding himself against her. "Fuck, Sash..." He growled into her mouth. "...you're _killing_ me." It was torture for them both, but she wasn't about to compromise her hold on the man just yet. Seeing him beneath her and hesitating, eyes glinting hungrily in the shadow of the couch and his grip on her thighs beginning to bruise the skin, sent a thrill through her.

"Sorry, babe. How's this...?" She sank down onto him, achingly slow, even as her body screamed the contrary. August dragged nails down her back, groan almost painful in its pitch. Leather creaked as he moved in and out, gripping her ass to steady her, attempting and failing a slow rhythm in his lust. Sasha gripped his shoulders as he began to pound, gentleness bleeding away in favor of animal instinct. Time blurred into frantic euphoria, reality dissolving into the delicious pain arcing up her spine and the mob boss' hoarse pants in her ear.

Bliss blossomed inside her, sweet and brief, followed by another, silkier heat. Sasha embraced the white noise of her headrush, shuddering against his chest and listening to the heavy thumping of his heart. "Fucking gorgeous." He murmured, kissing her chin lazily. Warmth filled her from head to toe, shy and giddy and a number of other things she couldn't quite pin down through the buzz. She savored the flush of his skin, the glint of sweat beading on his brow. They disentangled, reluctant and slow, the couch's cramped confines urging them into sitting positions.

" _Shit_...I forgot to put the drakefruit in the fridge." He groaned into her shoulder.

Sasha laughed tiredly, more a wheeze, pushing her locs back and kissing the damp hair curling around his jaw. "They'll keep. Just not as long."

It was a sluggish walk to the next room, a small hole with little more than a bed and a side-window. Muffled music and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the dark created a soothing metronome as they slumped against one another on his bed, drying off the sweat still clinging to their skin by the half-open windowpane. August had pulled out a bag of weed, offering a blunt her way -- she took it eagerly, puffing on it a little too quickly and dissolving into a coughing fit. She thought he had done the same, only to realize a second later he was laughing, snickering into the pillow uncontrollably. "You _dick_." She growled, trying not to smile, failing, mouth stretching in a grin as he tried to get himself under control.

Blinking away tears he sat up a little, flicking ashes into a tray on the windowsill. "Seriously? When's the last time you smoked, Sash?" He caught her punch, playfully pushing her hand away.

"Not in a _while_ , summer boy." She growled, attempting another strike at his stomach. "I don't exactly stop working when I leave the Skag." This made him pause in the middle of a drag, rather abruptly. His eyes narrowed through the smoke.

"So, what _do_ you do? You never got more specific than 'finds stuff and sells stuff'." Sasha realized she had said a little too much. Deliberating for a moment, she deigned to point at some vague space above his head.

"You got a huge spider in your hair, dude."

He jerked upright, running a hand along his head, pausing when she 'coughed' into her shoulder. "Oh. You're _stalling_." It was difficult not to lower her head in shame when he caught her gaze. "I mean it, Sash...I'm not overworking you, am I?" The con woman felt the familiar sting of a lie creeping up in her throat. She _had_ been tired as hell as of late; seeing bags under her eyes just the prior morning, carving out her normal smooth skin with a touch of gray, actually startled her. Even her unique wealth of furious energy had begun to quail in light of constant shifts and little sleep. Fiona had been asking questions here and there, good-humored as was her wont but tinged with a deeper concern, while Felix wavered between his typical blunt approach and fatherly attempts. The last thing she had wanted was to burden those she cared about.

"Dude, don't worry about it." She said, propped up one arm and idly stroking his collarbone. "I've been through worse." He looked at her steadily from where he lay on his back.

"Yeah? You shouldn't have to." Sasha reached over to flick ash into the little tray, not answering, chest mixing uncertainly with her relaxed mood and his genuine concern. "...There's a _lot_ you don't tell me, Sash." The man muttered, sighing smoke through his nose and choosing to stare out the window. "I'm...I don't want to pry."

There wasn't much she could tell him. That she was managing a double-life that felt more and more tenuous by the day. That she had grown to love her near-daily routine of visiting the Purple Skag and starting her shift alongside him, the highlights of her morning his smile and the way he said her name. That her exhaustion was slowly but surely becoming the easiest price she was going to pay once Felix put the finishing touches on his work of art. Lies rose and dipped in her mind, ugly and unwanted, threatening to pull down her physical high and emotional buzz and ground them both for good. So she dipped her head down, laying her cheek against his chest and attempting to keep the guilt at bay. It was a few moments before August's hand worked its way through her hair, stroking her scalp, surrendering the question with grace.

"Speaking of work...how'd you come up with the skag with the top hat?" She asked, attempting to puff out smoke rings and watching her failed attempts drift lazily to the ceiling.

"Oh, that?" He muttered, running a hand down his face. "Just some, uh, drunk dare. Scov told me I couldn't make something dumb enough to be remembered when I was building the Skag. I think he meant it as a compliment." He jerked back as Sasha kicked her feet in delight.

"I _knew_ it. I knew you were high when you made that. I'm a genius." She snorted again as he tugged one of her locs.

"Drunk, Sash. Drunk. _You_ are high."

His pot was certainly working its magic. It was becoming increasingly difficult to control her stream of giggles, even as her subconscious was aware of how silly she must be looking. The mob boss shook his head and rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around her, holding her against his chest as she caught her breath. His heart beat gentle against her back.

"I gotta get back home..." She sighed easily, watching dust float in the crack of light by the half-open door. "We've been low on food...they'll kill me if they have to dig into another can of beans." She felt the bed dip as he propped his cheek in one hand.

"Yeah...? I can call you a cab."

Sasha smirked at him over her shoulder. "Well, aren't I spoiled tonight. Trying to keep me from running into any more poles?" He nestled his nose into her hair, breathing in deeply and sighing.

"Maybe. Don't really want you going yet, though..."

Sinking teeth into her lip, Sasha's eyes fluttered closed as August curved a leg around hers, breath warm against the nape of her neck as he slid inside her again, already hard, grinding into her tender spot still sore and still wet.

The pair savored every ounce the evening had to offer.

\--

A sharp breeze sifted through the door as she walked out into the open night. Neighbors and visitors camped in front of their doors or lingered on sidewalks by the street, smoking and muttering to one another. The warmth of the apartment clung to her clothes and hair, faint and welcome, even as the cold threatened to nip it away.

"You sure...?" He asked, arms crossed. Even shirtless the night didn't seem to bother him overmuch.

"Yeah." She responded, stretching and sighing as her back popped. It had been all too tempting to stay overnight, the threat of Fiona and Felix's combined finger-wagging the only force dragging her out of August's bed. Longing weighed down her heart, only just kept at bay by the weed fuzzing her mind. The way August studied the ground, chewing on his lip, it seemed he was feeling something similar.

"Thanks for helping me out today. All week, actually. It...means a lot." He muttered, shifting a little. "Just tell me if you need a break...or a favor."

The con woman walked closer to him, watching the play of emotions on his face. "I will. You can trust me on that." Sasha closed her eyes as he cradled her chin in one hand, holding the kiss for what felt like a lifetime and no time at all.

She could still see the glow of the front door when she crossed the street again, then once more, before it vanished behind the shadows of buildings. As buzzed as she was she didn't neglect her usual anti-route, taking crooked pathways and disappearing in and out of shadows to discourage any would-be stalkers. The train horn blared its lonely note in the distance.

Opening the caravan door was like stepping into a stranger's home. Even waving to her father and avoiding a dishrag tossed from her sister, she found herself humbled and a little unsettled by the unfamiliar sensation. Two different lives, two different personas, all starting to blend together in a mess that could only be described as earnest. It wouldn't be a problem if she wasn't starting to wonder which one she was prepared to leave behind. She chalked it up to the pot making her paranoid. It certainly wasn't the only pleasure she didn't want to give up yet.

"Well, aren't you in a good mood." Fiona said, hair back in a small ponytail as she wiped down plates. "You get free beer or something?"

"Uh, something like that." Sasha responded, setting down her bags and pushing the door closed with her foot. A faint sizzling could be heard.

Felix sniffed the air, then crinkled his nose. "Something like weed. Open a window, Sasha."

With a long-suffering sigh she did as she was told, reaching over the couch and cropping open the small pane. A sandwich was placed before her as she took off her shoes and kicked them beneath the table; she dug into it with gusto, offering Fiona her grossest smile in thanks. "See if I do something nice for you again." She groaned, picking up the bags by the door and stocking the mini-fridge.

Dimming the lights and propping themselves against their pillow or bundle of blankets, the con woman listened to the tinny drone of the radio alongside her sister, even as her mind tried again and again to drift away from the drama to a few hours prior. "They actually pulled the father twist twice." Fiona mused, leaning back and brushing her hair. "Does it actually become clever if you go against expectation? Even if that expectation is 'wow, I didn't think they'd get this bad'?"

The con woman shook her head, picking up the caravan's last beer and taking a sip. "The fact we're still listening at all is the real twist."

Fiona reached over to the radio now and again, cranking the knob to adjust the broadcast whenever static threatened to overwhelm the dialogue. Sasha sank into her blanket and closed her eyes, letting the memories of the night roll through her head, rewinding her favorite parts over and over like the best short film she'd ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, these past few days have been a _doozy_. It's been a while since I've been this busy and tired.
> 
> On a positive note, here is some awesome (nsfw!) fanart empersiannicole drew -- the timing couldn't have been more perfect! 
> 
> http://empersiannicole.tumblr.com/post/148332279035/started-reading-this-sashaaugust-fic


	10. Suture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone finds the world, literally and figuratively, collapsing around them.

A hunk of metal clanged off the caravan. A light flashed to the right. The world was collapsing around them as they shot past the atmosphere above Pandora, the slow-motion destruction of one of the most notorious corporations ever founded following them like demons through the stars.

"Either of you move and you're _dead_."

Sasha stared down the barrel Finch pointed at her. Her nerves were on fire, struggling to reason with Hyperion's exploding form and the near-death experience staring her in the face. Fiona was still on that pile of rubble - in a rescue pod or floating around like Rhys' old boss, the con woman couldn't say. August had hardly moved since he got inside. While he had put on a good show when they snuck onto the caravan, threatening Finch to within an inch of his life if he touched her, his strength was draining in real time.

"...I need to patch him up."

The mercenary slowly lowered his pistol, though his finger remained on the trigger. "Then do it. Get any clever ideas, though, and you'll have to get Gortys to patch _you_ up." His drawl was as casual as ever, but the wet sheen of his skin betrayed him; every time the caravan jolted he would tense, the vein on his temple twitching spasmodically. Sasha moved to one of the cupboards, only to put her hands up when Finch aimed the gun her way again. "Sit your ass back _down_. I don't trust what you got in there." Temper boiled sickly in the pit of her stomach, but she was in little place to argue. It didn't stop her, however, from a few well-placed words.

"You think Vallory is going to be _happy_ you shot her son?" She ground out through gritted teeth. "Don't push your luck, Finch. Just get us all down to Pandora in one piece."

The man rolled his neck, getting a few pops in before growling, "We gave the guy a chance. If he hadn't..." He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly looking out the window. Vindictiveness spiked through Sasha's heart -- she wanted nothing more than to describe all the ways Kroger could've been killed in the station, from being consumed by a fiery blast to succumbing to a freezing death a la Henderson, but a bout of coughing brought her back to reality.

"Are you okay?" She heard Gortys whimper. Turning around she saw the Atlas robot crouched beside August, thin hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. The con woman risked a glance at Finch, then inched closer toward the pair.

He pulled away from her, face twisted in pain. "Don't...Don't _touch_ , okay? Just..."

The robot turned her round white eyes to Sasha, mouth in an upside-down _u_. "What do we do? I don't know much about...blood." She sounded helpless. Sasha put on a smile, even though she was sure it came out more like a grimace.

"He's going to be fine, Gortys." She said. "He's taken worse hits than this." The bandit propped himself against the wall, though the effort seemed to weaken him entirely. His skin was as white as frost.

"...Yeah. Yeah, I...definitely have." It was less to soothe the robot and more to save his pride, she knew, but Sasha appreciated it nonetheless. Perhaps for her own sake.

She hadn't known what to say to him then, when he had caught the Gortys piece Kroger tossed his way and looked out onto the space station to avoid their gaze. Sasha had even told him as such. "Don't look at me like that." He had said, stony expression coated with guilty cracks. A small part of her got it -- betrayal must have felt warranted in his heart, a fitting comeback for all the ills and deception she had put him through, directly and otherwise. It didn't make it hurt any less. Fiona had called him a 'momma's boy', a comment Sasha would have supplemented if she hadn't seen his stomach explode in a mess of red mere seconds later.

When he stopped halfway to the caravan and turned on the two mercenaries, even as they offered him a chance to back down, her heart had clutched in what felt like hope. "Look, don't do this, man..." Finch had said, pleadingly, his smooth drone stuttering at the unexpected turn of events. "This was _always_ the plan." There had been silence between the three, intermittently broken by the alarms and screams pinging off just feet away. Then...

" _Plans change_."

The rage that flooded through her when he hit the ground was something she hadn't experienced in a long time, a fury so wrathful it was a wonder in hindsight she had the presence of mind to drag the man to safety at all. Her memory began to blur as she recalled how she had yanked August's arm around her shoulders, helping him limp into the caravan just as it pulled away. Gortys dragging the door shut as the pressure threatened to suck them all back out. Fiona many feet below, still on the station, throwing her pistol in desperation as the impromptu ship lifted and sailed off into the stars. The last hour's events were jumbled like puzzle pieces in her brain, every attempt to stitch them together feeling clumsy and unsuccessful.

"You..." She began. August shifted against his spot against the wall, eyes narrowed in pain. She turned away. Their lives had become a maze of disaster, one false turn after another, leading them deeper and deeper and deeper into some brilliant hellhole she never could have dreamt up during her highest fantasies. Kissing him in the faint light of his apartment, entwining her fingers with his at four in the morning, chatting during their free hour before the Purple Skag's opening...none of it felt real.

"...I'm sorry." August murmured.

The young woman shut her eyes tight. It was the last thing she wanted to hear. 'Sorry' was what injured people said when they were going to die.

"Sash, I-"

"...don't."

August sat up, in some sudden moment of desperation, hand gripping the hole in his stomach. "If I don't..." He started.

Sasha slammed her fist onto the floor. "Then _don't!_ "

Gortys jumped, then turned into a ball. Finch stared at them, hand on his pistol. The air in the caravan seemed to freeze.

Sasha ground her knuckles into the worn wood, centering her focus again. Her eyes were stinging furiously. The mercenary muttered to himself and turned back to the console. "I have no idea if I lost my _sister_ , August." She hissed. "I have no idea if she's still _out there_. If she's dead. If she's...I-I don't want to think about it. And I'm supposed to lose _you_ , too?" She looked at him, though she could hardly make out his form for the tears that turned her vision into smoke. "You asshole." Was all she could say. "You fucking asshole."

She didn't think about putting a hand on his leg, nor gripping the rough texture of his jeans in an effort to keep grounding herself. Somehow her forehead had found his collarbone, pressing into the damp material of his shirt. His breathing was labored, heartbeat palpitating against her ear, but the man's voice was as calm as she'd come to know it.

"All for a box of loot." August muttered.

Sasha chuckled hoarsely. He responded in kind. It was the sort of laugh people did when they wanted nothing more than to forget their surroundings, as close to self-medication one could get when alcohol or pills weren't within arm's reach. Sasha sat up when August coughed again, the sound agonizingly clipped to her ears. With Finch keen on her staying away from supplies and August's blood starting to stain the carpet, she had to choice but to resort to her jacket. Gortys peered out of her ball.

The bandit smiled crookedly as she pulled off the Hyperion button-up. "Seriously, Sash...it was nothing."

It took the con woman a moment to realize what he was referring to -- that time he gave her his jacket all the way back during that deal with Nucleus. "You dork." She scoffed, weakly. Peeling up his shirt she saw the bullets peering out of his flesh, glinting with every labored breath he took. Mopping away the worst of the blood, she wrapped her undershirt around his waist, making sure the makeshift bandage was firm without being suffocating. She lowered his shirt over it again to keep it in place, feeling the familiar prickle in her skin when he looked her way.

"Sorry for pulling a gun on you." He said, slowly.

"Sorry for kicking you in the face." She answered, only to pause. "...No, you kind of deserved that."

August chuckled softly. "Yeah, I did. I was being a prick."

Her throat caught. He certainly wasn't the only one. "I'm sorry about...this whole thing." She whispered. It was a miserable apology, bereft of details, yet the guilt she had packed away for months was finally starting to overflow, every last wretched drop seeping out of her like blood from a wound. He watched her as she rubbed her eyes with the unstained back of her hand, that characteristic unwavering stare she once, so long ago, found unsettling. Now it was just miserable. Tired.

"...Are we..." He whispered.

The planet's familiar blues and purples were starting to blossom in their window's view, occasionally blinking in-between bunches of cloud fuzz. Finch had finally managed to contact Vallory on their radio, though her voice was scratchy and difficult to understand. " _Where...Aug...? _" Gortys peered in the cupboards while the man was distracted, pulling out objects as quietly as she could.__

"...Yeah." Sasha responded. She lay against the wall with him, shoulder touching his. The closest they had to an anchor, still suspended miles above Pandora's miserable violet. "...We're good."

\--

He wasn't a religious man.

Religions were too messy. Too vague. They didn't click with the reliable set-up he and his mother had carved out in the cave town all those years back. Bullets were reliable. Promises were reliable...usually. A person could always create their own if they didn't stick. Religions, though...they just weren't dependable. When all one had was dry desert and hungry mouths, there simply wasn't enough free time in the day to craft conjecture. To turn the garish ball in the sky into something reverent when all it did was blister skin and parch throats. To explain away the reason a childhood friend ended up in the ground, when she had only left the mechanic shop a few minutes prior.

Yet it still crept into his mind, quiet and seductive. It was difficult not to wonder if he would feel more at peace with the bullet in his stomach and the bullet in his chest if someone else's deity were an integral part of his life. If the slow panic that rose inside him would quell as he stared at the woman he fell in love with months ago, with those green eyes that made him feel weak and powerful all at once. If the death that he and so many Pandorans came to terms with and ran from and joked about in equal measures would be...easier.

"You asshole. You fucking asshole."

He thought to reach out, but didn't like the idea of smearing blood on her. All the words that rose to his lips felt ugly and useless. Fuck-ups were an unforgivable element in August's life -- it was the foundation that undercut everything he did, why he spent so much effort, so much money, attempting to set things right. Suddenly, all that seemed minor and pathetic compared to the tears rolling down Sasha's cheeks.

The biggest fuck-up of his _life_.

August had kept his hand over one of the wounds, although it did little to stop the blood, and batted Gortys away when she touched his shoulder. The little robot was infuriatingly attentive, never ceasing to squint his way and peck for details on his well-being, even when Sasha startled her into a temporary turtle-like retreat. He couldn't figure out why she irritated him so badly. Maybe he felt like he didn't deserve her kindness.

She returned from her venture into the cupboards and held a flask up to him.

"Are you thirsty?" Gortys asked. "I know humans need water to stay alive...right?" She turned to Sasha for confirmation, who raised her brows before nodding. It took the man a moment to realize it was for _him_ and not the robot.

August took it, slowly, trying to ignore the guilt that wormed its way deep inside him. "...Thanks." The water was stale and warm, but it felt like bliss on his dry tongue.

The Atlas robot smiled.

His mother's voice blinked in and out of radio static, causing his stomach to twist painfully. What the hell could he say to her? ' _Sorry, but I tried to sabotage the entire plan. I'm also still in love with the woman who used me and screwed you out of ten million dollars. Please don't tear out my nose ring again._ ' The more he ran different scenarios in his head, the more the fresh holes in his body seemed a base inconvenience. He couldn't tell which his mother would find more damning -- the knowledge her son had never truly stepped out of her shadow...or the knowledge that he had tried. Setting the flask down, the bandit swallowed the bile building up in his throat and crushed his eyes shut.

He had no choice but to sit with himself and the reality that he had let down everyone he truly cared about.

"I'm sorry about...everything." Sasha whispered, staring down at her bloody hands, looking for all the world like she wanted to disappear into the cold space outside. The mob boss stared at her, blood loss starting to make his head fuzzy as he studied the play of shame on her face. How interesting that one of the worst things he'd ever been through was simultaneously one of the best things that ever happened to him. No wonder people turned to religion.

Sasha sat beside him the rest of the trip, shoulder pressing against his. His mind hyperfocused on this little detail, holding him down when he wanted to vomit or pass out or both. All the questions he wanted to ask sank alongside his energy -- the Atlas facility, the flying deathtrap...there was always something more immediate in the way, preventing him from making peace with his closest friend in the galaxy. Laying his head back and closing his eyes, all he wanted to do was tell her...more.

He barely heard Finch say, "Buckle up." Wind rattled the windows, grains of sand pattering and clicking from what seemed like all sides. Without warning the caravan hit the ground, with such force they all bounced off the floor and clipped the ceiling. August gasped in pain as he landed on his stomach, huddling into a ball as he rolled with the fall. Sasha was holding onto Gortys with one hand, the other gripping the edge of the couch for dear life as the trailer screeched to a halt. Finch waved out the window to someone below.

He wavered in and out of consciousness, laying on his side and trying not to heave his broken stomach all over the floor. Gortys' voice grew more and more distant. Voices clustered above him. Heavy footsteps shook the floor. He felt a gloved hand on his shoulder, familiar even in his haze. "...Ma?" He whispered, blinking hazily at the shape above him. The hand moved to his cheek, cool against the heat of his skin.

"...Finch...hell happened...?" She said, sounding as if she were a hundred yards away. Reality flickered unreliably around him. He thought he heard Finch cry out. It could have been Gortys.

"Fiona! Fiona. Come in. _Please_." Sasha was standing by the control panel, talking into the receiver and changing the reception with every new spurt of static. Fiona's voice wavered out, faint and warbly.

"Thank _god_. Listen. Vallory used the beacon to upgrade Gortys and summon the Vault." The ground trembled with some terrifying force. The mob boss attempted to sit up, only for his limbs to twitch uselessly. His body felt like a rock. "Gortys is trying to keep it open, but the monster that came out of it...it's..." She looked over her shoulder at him, brow crinkled with worry.

A shadow temporarily wrapped around the trailer, obscuring all but the crack of light in the side door.

"It's big..." Sasha whispered with horror. "Really, _really_ big."

August passed out.

The door of the caravan opened. He jerked into wakefulness, though his body was a veritable mess of contradictions -- floating yet horrendously heavy, buzzing with nothingness and interspersed with lances of pain. "August...?" He heard Fiona ask. Dust coated her hair, transforming the brown strands into a pale yellow. ' _How the hell did she find us? I have to tell Sasha._ ' He thought vaguely. "Where's Sasha?" She was kneeling in front of him now, a cautious hand hovering over his bullet wounds.

"I...She..." He whispered numbly. He couldn't get any words out. He didn't know where Sasha was. Or Gortys. He wasn't even sure where he was or how he was still breathing. The door to the caravan closed and muffled the wind into nothing.

_"You...ever think about leaving Pandora?"_

_He attempted to shift into a more comfortable position on the hard sand. The question falls strangely on his ears, as if she had asked whether or not he believed in unicorns._

_"Leaving?"_

_Those green eyes stare at him, more vulnerable than he'd ever seen them. This was something she thought about a lot. He could tell._

_"...Of course I do." He sighed. "Won't happen, though."_

_"Won't happen, though."_

_"Won't happen, though."_

_"Won't happen."_

Some creature-like strength motivated him to wake up again, crawling out of the caravan like an animal, clutching his chest as he breathed in the kick-up of dusty air and it mixed sickly with the blood in his throat. August was nothing if not a survivor, drawing upon reserves he'd long since built up ever since he was a kid stabbing and brawling his way up Hollow Point's local crime scene. Dozing off had given him a small kick of energy, even as his wounds burning with a fresh fire. Blinking through the wind he slumped beside the door, attempting to figure out the meaning behind the strange noises he'd heard earlier. What he saw next made him wish he had stayed unconscious.

His mother was standing on the uppermost hill, rocket launcher on her shoulder and firing at some unseen foe in the dust. Fiona's form barely cut through the haze, covering her head from the flurry. A shadow, taller than any building he'd ever seen, was swaying and glowing like some storybook legend. It raised one arm, bigger than the caravan. Right above her.

"No...Ma!" He cried, even as his voice was drowned by the wind.

" _No!_ "

\--

Pandoran deserts had a life all their own. Temperatures could veer from blisteringly hot to freezing cold in a matter of hours, leaving anyone and everyone not prepared to the fullest stranded in their own personal hell. Winds would rage and die down at a moment's notice. Rain was a theory. Even those who had lived on the planet for a short time quickly learned there was little wisdom in challenging the wastelands, with only the smartest and strongest choosing to adapt to its mood swings rather than struggle in futility. Vallory slammed the truck door shut, hefting her grenade launcher over one shoulder and watching the swirl of dust play around her. Even the veritable disaster blooming in front of her would eventually be swallowed by Pandora's unique chaos.

Like a freak meteor shower Helios had collapsed onto the desert of Pandora, sending tremor after tremor shivering through the ground with no end in sight. The entire gang had watched, hypnotized, as Handsome Jack's old headquarters dipped into the desert sand with a serene grace, dust billowing upwards in mountainous plumes. Fire flickered in the sky; according to their smooth trajectory, they were a mixture of debris and life pods. She had no idea if her son was on one of them.

Cold relief flooded her when she heard one of her bandits call her name.

"Vallory!" Scov yelled from the truck, his partner stunned motionless beside him. "Finch is tryin' to contact us!"

She leaned through the window, pressing the receiver and raising her voice to help it carry. "About time. Give me an update, Finch." The transmission scratched and sputtered weakly, no doubt thanks to the winds that were beginning to kick up. She tweaked the reception, attempting to hone in on Finch's deep drawl.

" _Vall-...landed safe-...hear me...?_ "

With a growl she twisted the knob again, attempting to keep her voice level even as she yelled into the speaker. " _Where_ is August?" Silence met her question. Then...

" _He's...He's here_." There was something strange about his tone. Pulling back from the truck, she pulled out her rifle and peered through its scope. She caught the caravan perched on a distant hill, bouncing and swaying precariously with every new tremor. She could just barely make out human shadows in the windows.

Turning on the truck, she beckoned with one arm before shutting the door and slamming on the gas. Bandits filled into their trucks and motorcycles mechanically. Intuition gnawed at her. Brandy leaned in through the window as they drove across the sands, face nearly hidden behind goggles and a bandana. "I don't know what they did, ma'am, but we won't have to worry 'bout Hyperion no more." Vallory stared ahead. Even at this revelation, the momentary vengeful thrill curdled with dread. When she walked up to the caravan and saw Finch open the door, her eyes immediately found the source of her suspicion.

Her son was dying on the floor.

"...What the _hell_ happened?" She hissed, looking down at the hole in his upper chest, the other in his stomach. Fiona's younger sister was crouched beside him, Gortys hiding behind her. The mercenary's skin was glinting with sweat, breathing short and tense. Kroger, the Hyperion stooges...they were nowhere to be found.

"He got injured getting to the carava-" He began, steadily.

"Finch and Kroger _shot_ him."

The man's jaw dropped as the young woman pointed his way. Sand crunched faintly as a few bandits lingered close to the caravan, curious and wary. Vallory studied Sasha's face, the fury in her eyes mirroring her own. There was no lie there. The damned ingrates had truly thought, all the way back up on that wretched station, that she would have been happier with the Gortys piece with her son six feet under.

Finch swallowed thickly, fists clenching and unclenching uselessly as he looked between them. "Look, ma'am...he shot at _us_. He tried to mess up the plan. We just-" He paused abruptly, blinking, slowly lowering his head at the knife growing out of his chest. Vallory kept her gaze downwards, watching her son's labored breath rise and fall like a ticking clock. The rest of her gang milled closer, peering into the half-open door and muttering to themselves as Finch stumbled out of the trailer into the open air. Wordlessly, the queenpin walked over to where Sasha knelt.

The girl had watched her incessantly since she arrived, never moving her hand from her son's shoulder. Hollow Point was filled with tales of the two sisters, devious and crafty in equal amounts, virtually inseparable as they lived the con artist life. Vallory recalled how Felix had plucked her and her sister off the street and inundated them in the art of theft, a mere few years after they had their falling out. How she had weaseled so effectively into their lives under the guise of an everyday Pandoran nobody eager for a minor career, when dishonesty was their bread and butter, was anybody's guess. How the fake Vault Key had fooled everyone was another one. She imagined it had something to do with August falling in love with her.

She recalled her disappointment quite well at the Atlas facility. Her son had always been cautious in his interpersonal relationships ever since he had moved up the social ladder in line with her gang efforts. He had few true allies. Even fewer friends. Relationships were luxuries they could rarely afford, a strange irony brought alongside their more comfortable economic reality. With betrayal and upheaval a mere gunshot or stabbing away, there was simply no room for gray. Vallory knelt beside him, placing a hand on his cheek. He stirred, lifting his head just slightly to blink at her.

Yet here they were.

"...Ma...?" He whispered, delirious. His shirt bulged strangely. Peeling it back, she studied the quick wrap job. Even soaked with blood the pinstripes couldn't be confused for anything other than Hyperion. The Atlas robot peeked out from behind Sasha's back, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Tell me what happened." Vallory said. Sasha twisted her mouth uncertainly, looking her up and down as if for a trick. "Don't make me ask again." The queenpin growled. "The only reason you're not dead is because _he's_ not dead."

Gortys looked between them anxiously, fiddling her hands together. "W-Well, he..." She started. "...when we found my missing piece, he-" She stopped when Sasha held up a hand. Just like her sister.

"He...saved us." She said after a pause. "From whatever _you_ had planned." Vallory raised her eyebrows. It took the girl a moment to realize it wasn't her tone, but that she needed to elaborate. "Your two goons told him to back down and he didn't. I managed to get on the caravan with him before it took off. Fiona is..." Sasha trailed off. Vallory sighed. It wasn't as if the queenpin hadn't already put the pieces together days ago. There was nothing more left to say.

"Damned bleeding heart." She muttered, staring down at her son's pale face. Standing up, she hefted her rocket launcher and gestured to Gortys.

"...Let's get this done." The queenpin said to the robot. "I would rather not drag you to the vault site, honey."

"Don't..." The young woman started, hesitating, still not moving from August's side.

"You _started_ it, girl." Vallory snapped. "Now I'm going to finish it." She paused in the doorway. Her bandits stood attention, even as they shifted against the growing winds. Vallory looked over her shoulder. "...Keep him alive."

Sasha glared. "Of course."

Gortys rolled quietly at her side, attempting to turn and look at the caravan as it shrank behind them. The queenpin kept her gaze level as she walked past her bandits, past Finch's body, not stopping until she was mere feet away from where the vault rested.

\--

"You _have_ to shoot at the yell-"

She tried to pick up Vallory's weapon, trying not to look at the stain that soaked the ground where she had been standing just moments earlier, cursing as the damn thing sank back into the dirt.

The poor thing. The con artist never could have predicted the day's events. She thought escaping Helios had been her last flash in the pan, the finale to the fuck up to end all fuck ups. Now she was being strongarmed by fate or karma or _whatever_ to blow up the girl that had become like another little sister to her.

Tears and sand blurred her vision as she stood to her feet, muscles quaking uncertainly as she hefted the weapon over her shoulder. Suddenly, strangely, it lifted up with ease -- she gasped and turned as Sasha pushed up the grenade launcher with her shoulder. "Don't worry." She said, smiling, face covered in scratches and dirt. "We got this."

There was no time to apologize. Gortys burst in a flash of light, breaking through even the raging sands, disappearing into the wind without another word. Vallory's grenade launcher fell like a stone at their feet. The sisters stared quietly out into the nothingness, blinking through the blur.

"How the hell did you get back, Fi?" Sasha panted. "I thought...I thought I'd never see you again." Even beat up and weary her little sister attempted to hold Fiona up under her arm. Warm pride bloomed in the older sister's chest. She even pinched her arm, to reassure herself she wasn't dreaming and Sasha wasn't a mean-spirited delusion brought on by pain.

"It's...damn. It's a _really_ long story." Fiona answered. "Let's just say I'm tired of walking in heels." They leaned on each other, laughing feebly. The sandstorm raged around them, hollering at its lost prey. They didn't mention Gortys as they made their way home, stepping over the bodies both living and dead that littered the ground. "There should be a fuel reserve still in the caravan. It's beat-up, but the old girl's been through worse." Fiona said as she opened the door, only to freeze as August held a gun aimed her way.

"You better have a real, good god _damn_ reason for me not to pull this trigger." His voice was faint, barely comprehensible over the roar of the sandstorm, but his eyes were wild. Fiona swallowed slowly, wrapping a protective arm around her sister's shoulders and taking a tentative step back. Sasha looked at her, then to him, then to her.

"What's he talking about?" She whispered.

August was struggling to pull himself to his feet, one hand clutching his stomach with such ferocity it aggravated the wound; red blossomed around his fingers as he rasped, "You had all the time in the world to warn her. I _saw_ you."

Fiona's shoulders stiffened in realization. "Vallory." She breathed.

Sasha's eyes were round in confusion. "What? What happened?" She asked, instinctively reaching to her neck for the goggles that weren't there. The con artist looked away from August, then, attempting to internalize her contempt and exhaustion for her sister's sake.

"Vallory, she...the traveler got to her. She was trying to shoot at Gortys to get rid of it, but she couldn't see it in the sandstorm. We fought...and..." Fiona trailed off, hesitant to get specific with the man within earshot. The sisters gasped in unison as a shot burst inches from their feet, leaving a smoking hole in the floor. August was standing now, leaning on their table, but he looked to be on his last legs.

There was no love lost between Vallory and the sisters. Fiona vividly remembered where the old crone had stabbed Sasha in a bid to coerce her into agreement, a mere ugly detail in the long line of hostage situations and threats and shoot-outs that rounded out their brief relationship. Even the knowledge of an on-and-off ally losing their mother did little to sway her feelings on the matter. August, though...his pain had long since become entangled in Sasha's. An inexorable part of her psyche. Looking at her little sister's face, how it fell in horror, it was clear that when he hurt, so did she.

"August... _please_."

Sasha held her hands up, placatingly. Fiona pulled out her gun. She was down to one shot, but she wasn't about to see another threat to her sister while she was still standing. August's face twisted in a snarl. "Or maybe go for it." He rasped. "Kill me like you killed my _ma_."

To her shock Sasha stepped between them. Fiona took her hand, grip white-knuckle desperate. "Sasha! He's-" Her little sister simply gave her hand a squeeze, putting on her best smile.

"It's all right, Fi. ...I got this." Gently disentangling her hand from hers, she walked to where August swayed precariously, reaching out to him. "Hey..." She whispered. "Summer boy."

"I'm the only...I'm the only one left..." August started, stopping, shivering convulsively. With a flicker of dread Fiona realized he had gone far too long without decent medical attention. Her mind attempted to piece together the time frame between Helios and Pandora, how long he must have been in the caravan with those wounds. Sasha put a hand over his. Pushing the pistol down. It clattered to the floor. August slumped forward, Sasha stumbling as she caught the brunt of his weight. Kneeling slowly onto the floorboards her little sister held his head in her lap, closing her eyes helplessly as he wept into her stomach.

Fiona shut the door and, without another word, sat in the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. They were low on fuel, but the reserves had just enough kick to get them out of the dust storm and closer to civilization. The guilt roiling in her chest wasn't for August. It certainly wasn't for Vallory. It was for her little sister, on her knees and cradling a dying man she fell in love with for a deal that didn't even work out.

The caravan started, her seat growing warm from the engine's energy. The least she could do for her sister now was get him somewhere safe and patch him up.

At the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found a little cut dialogue involving a confrontation between Fiona and August in the climax. Why you take out all this interesting shit, Telltale? 
> 
> In other news, still tired, still busy and _still amazed that I'm getting fanart for my fanfiction like holy shit_
> 
> http://drawingplastered.tumblr.com/post/147611489580/im-ruined-thanks-to-wonderass-author-of-the


	11. While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha spends her day off from work with her sister, though little seems to actually change.

It was a warm morning. Not too cool, not too hot.

Sasha leaned out of the caravan door, hands in her pockets as she listened to Sad Son's smooth warble. Mist had only just begun to fade in light of the encroaching sun -- she rarely got to witness a morning thanks to Hollow Point's unique cave structure (and her deep-seated disdain for traditional work schedules) and it was fascinating to see another side to the parched outlands. A more forgiving Pandoran might even call it beautiful. Even with the temperate climate a cold beer sounded heavenly, though she found her subconscious noting she was drinking more and more as of late. Her job better not have turned her into one of the more satisfied alcoholics.

"Come on, Sash. We need to get this done."

The con woman sighed gustily and pushed herself away from the doorframe. It was difficult not to feel a little conflicted despite the day having not even started yet -- she had been aching to spend time with her sister after the busy work week, but now that she had a moment of peace all she wanted to do was kick up her feet and reflect.

"You all right?" Fiona asked as she sat down. "You've been a little quiet. I _would_ say you have your head in the clouds, but I don't think I've seen one in years." Sasha rolled out a map, dragging a lazy finger along their route. Felix had repaired a generator for an acquaintance a few towns over, an in-between job when his con work slowed down to a trickle. Exhausted after an all-nighter he had implored them finish the delivery the following morning, an easy task that was the closest to a day off the sisters would actually get. The caravan needed a check-up, though, and fixing the radiator and repairing the tires took priority before they could get out onto the open road.

"Been a while since I could relax a little." Sasha murmured as she scratched at Felix's cursive. She never knew where he had learned to write like that. "Which means I'm thinking about all the shit I was too busy to think about before." Fiona leaned her arms on the table, dipping her head in that half-nod she always did when she was offering the floor. "It'd...just be a pretty sick joke if other planets were as fucked as this one." Sasha finished after a moment.

Her older sister shrugged. "There are a lot out there." She said. "We're bound to find a winner eventually."

Sasha closed her eyes as a breeze ruffled her lashes through the open window. "Boldly go where no Pandoran has gone before, huh?"

Fiona chuckled. "If that's the bar, then let's just find the nearest shower." They shared a laugh, her older sister reaching beneath the table to pull out a small bag of nuts they'd plucked off a stall a few days back -- red shots were deliciously crunchy and sweet, a rare market item only found many, many miles away. The pair took turns using the grip of their pistols to snap open the rock-hard outer shells, flicking the residue onto the sands outside.

"You haven't told me much about the con, other that you've had to wipe up piss stains and occasionally go grocery shopping with your boss." Fiona said around a mouthful. Sasha frowned.

"What, that's not exciting enough? The stain was, like, _this_ big and smelled _exactly_ like car exhaust." She held out her arms for emphasis, earning only an eyeroll in response. Dodging the question to another woman who lied for a living, her older _sister_ no less, was never a good idea. Between her and August, it was becoming increasingly hard for her to bullshit. Fiona's raised eyebrows confirmed her suspicions.

She flicked a nut at her when Sasha went back to eating. "Come on. Fill me in. You don't have to do this all alone." Fiona paused. "I mean, you technically do, but...you know what I mean." She ended with a sigh. Sasha knew. She wasn't lying so much as stalling, but she knew. Amusing scenarios flickered in and out of her head. _'So, I didn't exactly **sway** August so much as fall head over heels for him. Does that count?'_ She imagined herself saying to Fiona's shocked profile. Her stomach sank a little as her older sister stared at her, concern starting to crinkle her features. The two were always open with one another. This was no doubt starting to seem a little strange.

"Yeah. It's..." Sasha started, then sighed, rolling a nut between her fingers. "Look, I don't want to talk about work now. It's my day off." She wrinkled her nose at Felix's package beneath the table. "...Kind of." Even saying it out loud, it was a little difficult not to think about the Purple Skag. About August. Despite seeing him rather frequently week after week, she felt his absence more acutely than she realized.

Fiona raised her brows. "Good point. I'll bug you about it later, though. You know that, right?" Sasha waved a hand and wiped off her pants, standing up and heading back outside to tweak the tires. Their rotation was a little off, but she didn't feel like taking the entire thing apart. Reaching for her wrench, she lay onto the hard ground as comfortably as she could and tightened a few nails, giving the tire a follow-up nudge. Fiona went in and out of the caravan, starting it and moving back and forth to test Sasha's handiwork. It would hold until she could give it more focused attention.

'Dry And High' came onto the radio, making the sisters turn and smile at one another in sudden nostalgia.

"Come on, Fi." Sasha said with a grin, peering through the front door and scrubbing sand from her knees. "Gimme those legendary pipes."

Her sister swooned onto the couch dramatically, one arm draped over her face. "I can't sing, suddenly. I don't know." Sasha scoffed and took in a deep breath in her stead.

_Let it fly_

_Yes, let it fly_

_Two parents, harsher than harsher_

_The ocean green and blurry, a blanket around the planets_

_Sleeping body needs to get a little less high_

_I read she drilled in_

_I read she drilled in_

_I read she drilled in_

_I'm runnin',_

_I'm runnin',_

_I'm runnin',_

They went back to their respective positions repairing the caravan, singing to each song they knew and chatting over the ones they didn't. Morning shifted from a faint fog to the omnipresent glare she was more familiar with, sand and air heating up like an oven. Only the occasional rakk or rumbling motor broke through their chorus.

Sasha hefted the suitcase away from the table to peer inside once they finished up their tasks and washed their hands. The generator was not only fixed and ready to go, it gleamed with additional polish -- copper and gold winked at her, scrubbed to a delicate sparkle that would impress even a Hyperion stooge. "Felix really knows what he's doing." The con woman said with a whistle. "Where the _hell_ did he learn how to tweak these?"

Fiona pursed her lips as she started the van. "You know, he's never really gone into detail about that. Always changes the subject when we ask."

The caravan rumbled and jerked into life. Pulling out of their hidden enclave they set out onto the open road, the dust they kicked up only barely dimming the sunlight's harsh dazzle. "Maybe he should make a real Vault Key, then." Sasha said as she sat down in the passenger's seat. "Save us the trouble." Fiona nodded idly, bobbing her head to a jangly tune Sasha couldn't place. With her hands free and a good half hour between them and the next town, intrusive thoughts began to kick up in the back of her mind.

"Does it...still bother you, Fi?"

The engine sputtered for a moment, then returned to its usual lethargic growl. Fiona kept her eyes on the road. "...A little." She rounded a corner, their destination flickering into view far off into the distance. A cluster of rakks fluttered around some dead thing to the right, making the sisters cover their noses.

"Most Pandorans are assholes, though. So I feel a _little_ less bad." She added with a chuckle. Sasha laughed in turn, though she felt her hand reaching up to fiddle with her goggles. _'Not all of them.'_ It was hard not to view her sister with awe sometimes. As much as she wanted to imagine the two of them being on equal footing, too often Sasha felt Fiona handled Pandoran life better than she did. She always seemed so unruffled. So unbothered. While Sasha found pride in her own ability to handle herself, sometimes the anger threatened to overwhelm her. It was only when they had their rare alone time Fiona's veneer would crack, just a little, allowing Sasha a peek beyond the bluster she put on every day. Her sister would get a soft look in her eyes, the one she couldn't afford in general company, and with an internal shake the con woman would remind herself that it was just her big sister being the big sister. That she hated her home planet _just_ as much as she did. That all the pomp and swagger she put on in the day-to-day was for her benefit.

"You don't have to hold anything back around me, Sash." Fiona said, turning the radio down a touch. "Let it out while you can."

Sasha looked out onto the sands. Trying to find a compromise. "I just like who I am, Fi. Who we are." She said, pulling herself away from the familiar pit of destitution. "Sometimes it all still feels so far away." Fiona smiled at her. Gently.

The pair jerked to attention as a distant rumbling filtered in through the window. Sasha reached into the glovebox, pulling out a pair of old binoculars to get a better look at the source of the noise -- a group of bandits were flanking them, for what seemed like a good while, mere specks in the distance but too coordinated to simply be passing through. A moment's watching showed one waving their arm in what seemed to be a command, the roar of their engines growing louder.

"Oh, _fuck_." She cursed. "Are you kidding me?"

Fiona sighed and reached for the gas boost. "Don't tell me. Bandits?"

Sasha began to count them as they crept up behind the caravan. "Four...five...sixteen..." She walked over to where her older sister was sitting. Their van had enough fuel to get them some distance, but they would have to use it wisely. Gasoline was even harder to come by than good weapons and a mistimed shot could leave them stranded in the middle of nowhere. "Shoot 'em or lose 'em, Fi?"

A bullet clanked off the caravan. They looked at each other.

" _Both._ "

"'Ey! 'Ey, where ya goin', ladies?" One yelled as they pulled up beside their right window, partner attempting to wave them down. Their motorcycles were coated in spikes, jagged shards sticking out of the sides of their wheel rims like splinters -- judging by their sideways masks and bright clothes, they were one of the minor gangs that circled Hollow Point every now and again. Sasha couldn't recall their title, but she wasn't particularly interested in anything that didn't involve their sudden and gratuitous deaths.

"Hey, guys! Nice bike you got there." Sasha said as she aimed her Magnum out the now open window. "Be a _shame_ if anything happened to it." They swerved backwards in response, making rude gestures. Bandits soon surrounded them on all sides. Dust began to spill into the caravan, prompting Fiona to yank the windows shut again, muffling the roar of engines only barely.

"Okay, we need to-" She started, only to stop as bullets drummed a discordant tune on the caravan's sides. The metal was thick enough to withstand a barrage, but the windows and tires remained fair game -- a shot barely missed the windshield, leaving a bright white line in its wake.

"You're shitting me. We're going to have to fix the covering, too?" Fiona growled as she swerved between two tall rocks, the abruptly cut off howls of a pursuer rewarding her efforts.

"The bullet holes add character. Keep swerving, Fi. I'm going to see if I can't pick a few off." Sasha said as she climbed up the ladder to the caravan's roof, strapping on her goggles and popping out of the hood; squinting against the wind and dust she aimed for their tires, eager to double her efforts by tripping them up. The bandits began to weave from left to right, forcing her to duck back inside as a hail of bullet fire popped around her. It was clear they had done this many times before. "Think we should try to lose them in there?" Fiona called to her, pointing ahead.

Sasha dropped down and ran up behind her, peering over her shoulder at the cluster of hills and boulders that began the start of one of the area's nearby canyons. It was incredibly tempting -- the place was practically a death maze, filled with twists and turns and plenty of dead ends that would more easily confuse a large group than a pair. The con woman winced as a bullet pinged right next to where she was standing. Something wasn't quite right. Bandit gangs, even ones on the smaller and smellier side of the food chain, were usually opportunistic scavengers rather than hunters. These ones seemed a little _too_ bold.

"If we get lost in there we might as well kiss our asses goodbye, Fi." She wiped grit from her goggles, hefting her gun again. "Who's to say we won't be going into a trap?" A bandit suddenly drove his fist through the left side of the windshield, raining glass onto the sisters. Holding onto the steering wheel with one hand, Fiona whipped out her pistol and sent a shot right into the man's eye. He fell screeching onto the ground, his sickening crunch soon swallowed up by the advancement of his peers.

"Well, we need to choose an option and soon!" She yelled as she settled back into the seat again, attempting and failing to ram a bandit inching too close to the right. "The old girl can't take much more of this."

A bandit leapt from their bike through the now gaping hole, rolling with the fall and attempting to tackle Sasha in one swift motion. They collapsed to the floor, wrestling with her Magnum and rocking back and forth as Fiona swerved. Sasha's gun shot a few times from their struggle, sinking holes the couch and table. "Nice place you got here!" They yelled, grinning down at the con woman. "Be a _shame_ if something happ-" Their head snapped to the side from Sasha's right hook. Another second and they were sent flying back out of the window with a well-placed kick.

"Boost to Little Flagon. I know it won't carry us all the way there, but we can't risk the canyon." Sasha panted, leaning on the table to catch her breath. With her gun reloaded she peeked through the hidden door by the kitchen, firing a shot at an unsuspecting member and sending them flying off their bike to tumble into their partner. She pulled it shut when they aimed her way again. " _Hurry_ , Fi!" She yelled over her shoulder. "I'm running out of tricks here!"

The caravan lurched forward as Fiona hit the rocket booster, sending them nearly flying along the sands. Her hunch proved correct. Their pursuers reluctantly slowed to a crawl, shrinking to dots in a matter of seconds as Fiona sped toward the town. They eventually disappeared into the horizon, leaving nothing but smoking bullet holes and two very irritated con artists in their wake. That is, until Sasha pulled out Felix's package -- pulling it open the generator was revealed to be undamaged, but her relief was short-lived when she saw a bullet hole or two had found its way through the casing, leaving nasty scratches on the previously glossy exterior.

"Aw, damn. Fi..." She groaned, walking over to the driver's seat and showed her the damage. "The hell are we going to do about this?" Her sister glanced sideways, not quite ready to take her eyes off the road.

"Look in Felix's box and see if he has any paint. I could call him and ask about..." She winced. "On second thought, just check for the paint."

Sasha dug around in his toolbox, pushing aside screwdrivers and EMPs and objects she couldn't name in search of anything that could reasonably cover up the damage. While there were plenty of minor tools, there was little that resembled gloss. Eventually she settled for their nail polish tubes, mixing reds with oranges until she got as close to the brassy color as she could. "Sick of this shit." She muttered as she worked, to one in particular. Their father was _incredibly_ meticulous about his work; reputation was more important to him than it was the sisters, something he had no choice but to fall back on sometimes when they were low on options. The last thing they all needed was one of those options being put at risk. Fiona sniffed the air curiously.

The guards at the front gate waved them in when they arrived, hardly looking up from their card game. The place was little more than a smudge on Felix's map, proportionate to the town's insignificant existence as the middleman between larger communities. Unlike Hollow Point's cobblestone roads and crooked buildings, Little Flagon was barely held together by what seemed like cement glue, metal boards and spite. Parked trucks were sometimes bigger than the houses themselves, little more than glorified tents, and fire pits filled the open spaces in some form of compensation. The only thing worth noting about it was its name, apparently given due to its rather strong beer.

The pair walked with swagger through the town, adopting the busy and distracted air of its majority traveler base. A few bandits slumped around each fire pit they passed, grilling their catch of the day and muttering amongst themselves. The place smelled strongly of oil and smoke. Hardly anyone looked twice at the sisters.

Felix's directions were thankfully detailed. It wasn't long before they found his patron's residence, a ramshackle little hut squeezed in-between mounds of the fortified wood and stone that made up the town's surrounding wall. The door swung open before Fiona had even touched it, the sound of squalling children flooding out into the open air. "Finally!" The woman gasped, pushing her messy hair back. "You got my package? This heat is going to fucking kill me."

Sasha pulled out the suitcase, hoping with all her might she'd take a look at the thing after they had left -- she held back a frown as the woman immediately opened the case in front of them, holding it up to the light. "Mm...what's up with these scratches? It'll still work, right?" She asked, crinkling her nose.

Sasha shrugged. "Yeah, definitely. Sorry about Felix, he's just been short on time." Fiona adjusted her hat and put on her most charming smile. Business as usual.

They took the money (with thankfully no additional argument) and walked out into the sun, blinking the glare away. "Here's hoping Felix doesn't find out about that. I can't believe you used nail polish." Fiona said with a small chuckle.

"Yeah. Want a drink?" Sasha asked, allowing a scowl to finally spread on her features. The day had gone from 100 to 0 faster than she would have liked. She waited for a quip about her occupation; her sister instead wiped sweat from her forehead and responded,

"Hell yes. I'm going to get the biggest, _coldest_ crap they got."

It wasn't hard to find the town bar, being the largest and most decorated building for what seemed like miles around. The place was even a little crowded when they walked in, though the restless air and hodgepodge of outfits suggested travelers merely stopping in for a buzz before being on their way. The gentle chime of glass and scuffle of feet relaxed Sasha's shoulders, just barely. It had long since become a positive sound for her.

Sasha felt the sting of recognition in her gut when she sat down at the front bar, one of the travelers looking somehow familiar even covered in heavy layers. It was difficult not to stare, even as she flagged down the bartender and placed her order. Fiona followed Sasha's gaze, surreptitiously lowering her hand to slide out her sleeve's pistol. "Anyone we should be careful of...?" She asked in hushed tones as she took a bar stool for herself.

The con woman frowned and shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. Actually..."

The customer jerked upright as she sat beside her. Sasha grinned. "Good to see you."

The woman pulled her headwrap back, peering at her. Her make-up was as wild as ever, this time a vivid red that splashed across her brows instead of blue. "Hey...hey, _yeah_ , I remember you. Purple Skag, right?" Sasha smiled and leaned on the counter, ignoring a nearby bar goer's growl at the sudden cramped space.

"Yeah. I'm Sasha. This is my sister, Fi. Er, Fiona." She held out her hand to shake. The woman returned the gesture, firmly.

"Fatima." Heavy clinking signaled the arrival of their drinks, a few frothy drops spilling onto the counter.

"She was my first customer at the Purple Skag." Sasha clarified for her sister, who was sipping her drink with an amused frown. It seemed the beer was doing her no favors. "What are you doing all the way out here?" The con woman asked, settling into place and taking a sip of her beer -- she tried not to scrunch her face as the powerful taste stung her nose.

"Got back from a job." Fatima said with a tired sigh. "Had to go all the way over to Artemis. It paid well, so I'm not complaining..." Fiona blinked in surprise, looking to Sasha and back again. The traveler took a deep swig of her beer and coughed. "Is this beer or donkey piss?" She muttered into her shoulder, offering Sasha a crooked smile. "I'll have to drop by the Skag again. You getting the hang of mixing drinks?"

The con woman took another drink -- judging by the heat that flared in her chest it had an _incredibly_ high alcohol content, only matched by its alarmingly bitter taste. Keeping a straight face she took a smaller sip. It didn't help. "Yeah. Practice makes perfect and all that. About Artemis..."

Fatima waved over the bartender again. "What, your old stomping grounds or something?"

Sasha glanced at Fiona before answering. "Actually, I've never been off-planet." Another glass was set in front of them, a touch more abruptly than before. No doubt the bartender had heard Fatima's little comment.

"No kidding?" She responded, widening those strange, shadowed eyes. The con woman frowned, then checked herself as Fiona gave her a little nudge under the table -- she didn't like being reminded of her position, but It wasn't every day she got to talk to someone who'd really been around. Well, someone who was relatively friendly and not a Vault Hunter, that is.

"What's it like?" Sasha pressed, leaning forward eagerly.

Fatima topped off her cup, rubbing her brow as the alcohol sank in. "You'll have to get more specific than that, hon. There's a _lot_ out there."

The con woman didn't hesitate. "Any you would recommend over Pandora?"

Her heart skipped a beat when Fatima gave her an affirming eyeroll. "Oh, hell yes." She chuckled as Sasha leaned forward on her stool, hands on her knees like a kid waiting for a bedtime story.

The following hour was relaxing, the quiet atmosphere and alcohol lulling the three women into deep conversation. Sasha learned about a planet covered entirely in water, with only rare islands peppering its icy depths. Another planet with massive cities, easily five times Pandora's population. Yet another that was filled with nothing but forests, the most difficult one for her to envision in her head. More and more the con woman asked, each answer igniting her imagination more than the last. Fiona listened quietly, only occasionally supplementing Sasha's excitement with a supportive comment. They were soon the only ones left in the bar drinking the day away.

The sisters swayed precariously on their walk back. Dusk had settled over the town without their knowing, lanterns blinking in and out of windows as they drifted to the caravan. Bonfires could be spotted in their periphery view when crooked alleyways momentarily gave way. "How many did I drink, Sash?" Fiona sighed, running fingers through her hair and nearly knocking off her hat. "It tasted like ground-up wood but they just kept _coming_. God. I think I'm too drunk to drive."

The con woman kept an arm around her shoulders, for her sister's benefit as well as her own. "Come on, Fi. That's quitter's talk. Maybe you'll hit a few of those guys that chased us. ...Wait, let me drive."

It was eventually solved with a coin toss (Fiona wasn't _too_ drunk to pickpocket). Her older sister sidled into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out a little too quickly to be safe -- a traveler barely dove out of the way, yelling curses as they left Little Flagon.

The con woman closed her eyes as she lay on the couch, rolling the day's events in and out of her head with drunken ease. Fatima had bid them good luck on their journey when they exited the bar, smile reaching her eyes in a way Sasha wasn't quite used to. It was the strangest sort of luck meeting her in that middle-of-nowhere pit stop. The old flame glowed within her fresh, blistering all over again with the reality of other worlds -- having long since chewed out faith's flavor, she was thrilled beyond words to have something new to nibble on. She jerked to attention as her earpiece beeped.

 _"Hey, babe."_ She heard Fiona's chair squeak faintly, no doubt curious who was on the other end.

"Just getting back from Little Flagon." Sasha said, holding onto the couch arm as the caravan swerved. "Their beer really isn't that bad. Got character, at least."

August laughed. _"Yeah? I don't have to worry about you jumping ship, do I?"_

She scuffed her foot on the worn cloth, rubbing a thumb on her earpiece. "Nah. Your place is way more exciting." Her chest grew warm as he chuckled again. She had already missed his laugh.

 _"I wanted to ask...you want to do something next week? Just the two of us."_ He was silent for a moment. _"I mean...if you want."_

Sasha closed her eyes as the couch vibrated in sync with the caravan's bumping and swaying, loosening up the crooks and aches in her back. The familiar sting of code-switching came upon her as she reminded herself of Fiona's sharp ears mere feet away. Still hiding bits of herself, even during one of her rare honest days. Even then...she was feeling pretty good.

_'I'd love to, babe.'_

"Definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I guess Wednesdays have become my actual upload day?
> 
> I really love these two. It's not often you get to play a videogame (much less a good one) that showcases a healthy and happy relationship between two sisters.


	12. Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone wants to run away at some point.

It was a slow, awkward ride down to Hollow Point.

The sisters kept themselves in deep conversation, pretending him little more than a particularly tall piece of furniture. With only a mild buzz to keep him company August kept to the far part of the caravan, turning the heist plan this way and that in his mind. Gortys was bouncing up and down, peering from windshield to window and back again in some imitation of childlike enthusiasm. Whether or not she was _actually_ a child was up for debate -- she was technically born days ago, but she spoke more like an exuberant and slightly flirtatious teenage-something. Robots were weird.

They pulled up to the local car shop, looking a little too excited to get out and stretch their legs. The caravan had to be retrofitted to get off of Pandora and into space; their budget, while respectable, didn't allow for anything more extravagant than the basics. Fiona had recommended they ask a few favors from Scooter, the owner of Catch A Ride -- from what little he remembered of the guy, he made Gortys look downright reticent in comparison. August tried to keep his moodiness to a minimum, even when Fiona bid him stay in the trailer and babysit the robot.

"Hurry up." He grumbled. "I don't like being alone with this...thing."

"But I like you so _much_!" Gortys gasped.

The hour-long wait felt like a year. The Atlas robot was a chatterbox, jumping from subject to subject with such velocity his head was starting to pound. Robots were a source of contention with him ever since he was a kid and Gortys didn't look like she was about to contest that instinct any time soon. Even if this one _was_ rather tiny.

"You like me...why?" He asked, reaching for another beer and popping it open. The least he could do was keep his buzz and not think about the complications that could occur once they left the planet.

"Because when Sasha looks at you she gets this doey-eyed face!" She responded cheerily, nearly causing him to drop the bottle in shock.

"Uh, _what?_ "

This seemed to cheer her. "Oh, yes! It's _so_ adorable. Come to think of it, you two were bickering like an old married couple back when you were chasing me..."

August frowned. It _had_ been a rather ridiculous scenario. When that Hyperion desk jockey had fallen from the tree like a rotten fruit and attempted to throttle his mother, he was immediately put in the position to fetch Gortys. She was remarkably fast, outpacing even his truck at top speed. It was all he could do not to lose her in the shuffle, his bandits flying off the car and a giant yellow robot threatening to shatter his windshield and face both. When Sasha appeared out of nowhere to kick his gun out of his hands while he was chewing out Reeze, he was thoroughly convinced he was in some surreal comedy.

_"You're such an asshole, August!" His gun went flying into the trees, though he managed to grab onto the Atlas ring before she made off with it._

_"We never officially broke up, you know!" He yelled, struggling to steer with one hand and pull on the Gortys piece with the other. He forgot how damn **strong** she was._

_"Yes, we did!" She yelled back, indignant, setting her feet against the side of the car and pulling back with all her might._

_"Nope, not officially!" He responded, the Hyperion number cruncher in the corner of his eye scowling at him on the hood and struggling not to fall off._

_"Okay, then I officially-"_

_"Which is why I'm officially breaking up with you now!"_

_"Oh my **god** , you are out of your mind!"_

_"It's funny you say that, 'cause I was thinking, 'Man, I must sound pretty nuts right now!'"_

He wasn't quite sure what possessed him to start bickering with her while simultaneously driving, chasing and attempting to avoid bullet fire, but it could likely be attributed to one half spite and one half adrenaline. The more he thought about it, the more embarrassed he felt. Sasha really got under his skin in a way nobody else could.

"I like you and I like Vaughn and I like..." Gortys chirped, rolling around in an excited circle. Her voice slowed to a drone as he tuned her out, sipping on his beer and staring out the window. He hadn't done anything when his mother stabbed Sasha through the arm, attempting to coerce Fiona into action even as she was pinned beneath her flamethrower. Like usual his recent victories felt more and more perilous. Even with Gortys and the Hyperion dickheads in tow, he felt little more than weariness and frustration. The money was beginning to feel more and more like a myth. Like any myth, it was synonymous with dreams and wasted time. The two things he hated more than liars.

The guilt that roiled in his gut didn't mix well with the shitty beer in his hand but he kept drinking nonetheless, eager for alcohol's blur. There was nothing he could've done. His mother would've gutted him had he done anything other than assist in cultivating the atmosphere of impossibility she wanted. Why the hell didn't this soothe him?

"Who do _you_ like, August?"

August sputtered on his drink. He opened his mouth to answer, only to realize with a start the question was a peculiar one. He was beginning to doubt this robot was as naive as she acted. "I'm not having this conversation." He muttered, wiping his mouth and leaning back. A glance out the window showed the sisters laughing with the mechanic. It took all his willpower not to fling his drink out the window and tell them to hurry the hell up. Knowing Sasha, she'd just throw it back.

Gortys hopped up and down. "I like Fiona and Rhys and Sasha and Vaughn and Athena and Vall-" She paused. August peered down at her. "Your mom is, uh...she's..." Gortys' eyes suddenly went round. "Rebooting. Rebooting."

August scowled. "Oh, give me a _break._ "

The little robot instantly gave up the jig and shrugged plaintively. "She's kind of _really_ scary, though. She hurt Sasha, she hurt you..." The mob boss started to rub his nose, then frowned at the act. When the hell did she find that out? She wasn't even booted up when it happened. "Is that just a thing moms do?" Gortys rolled closer to him, even as he leaned away.

"You don't have a damn clue, do you...?" He growled.

"Not really." She answered. He had to admit, her honesty was refreshing. "This is the first family I've ever had. But they're really nice to me. They never want to see me get hurt. It just looks strange when..." She trailed off at his stare. While he didn't feel like continuing her round of twenty questions, the sentiment was difficult to avoid. Clearly Sasha was rubbing off on her.

He'd long since gotten used to his mother's version of tough love. She had been more distant when he was younger, with his older brothers filling in whenever she was out scavenging, hunting and participating in raids. When they died her approach had shifted from hands-off to something resembling obsessive. It had started out as an attempt to shape him up through all his little slip-ups and fuck-ups. She had never told him outright, but he knew she was afraid of losing the last son she had.

August had become a good fighter as a result. It was hard to care about the bruises your opponents gave you when you had received far worse, after all. A savvy businessman, well-versed in the art of consequence. Perhaps without his upbringing he would have amounted to little more than a career cage fighter, eventually succumbing to inner head trauma or some drug addiction before he hit his thirties. It was decent reasoning, he supposed. Not good enough to keep the quiet resentment at bay. Or the fear.

He idly thumbed his nose. All things considered, he had gotten off pretty light. He wondered if she'd rip out his ear piercings, if the plan went wrong and they came back empty-handed. If they came back at all.

"You know, I think-" Gortys started, only to spin around as the caravan door opened again. The sisters looked a little emotional, though it was difficult to tell why.

Sasha waved him over. "Come on, you two. Let's get this thing over with." She paused, then turned around again. "Also, we're broke."

August sighed.

\--

"So?"

August looked up. Sasha was sporting a dark suit and pencil skirt, a few inches taller thanks to the heels she was wearing. Knee-jerk disgust at Hyperion's classic colors blended into pleasant surprise. Like usual, she looked beautiful without even trying. He tried not to think about the feel of those legs around his waist, those green eyes lazy with lust. Swallowing thickly, he nodded vaguely and crossed his arms, focusing on some stain on the floor. It was a few moments before he realized Sasha was still talking to him.

"...do I look?"

He jerked to attention and turned fully to face her. She frowned lightly, repeated what she said a touch more slowly. "Uh, how do I look?"

"Well, it's one less thing off my mind." He said, lightly. The woman raised her eyebrows. "Still going to keep the earrings?" He asked, resisting a smile; she never seemed to take those off, even sleeping with them on during a stint at his apartment. When he thought about it, he'd never asked her where she got the things. The question rose to his lips, faltering and weak. It wouldn't be good to act too familiar. All over again.

"I like them. Last I checked, so did you." She answered, hand on her hip. August rolled his eyes and looked back to that little patch of floor. It was surprising he hadn't burned a hole in it yet. Sasha shuffled a little. While he couldn't see her expression, he could feel her gaze on him.

"So, why aren't you changing into another outfit?" She asked after a moment. The mob boss glanced at her.

"Because _I'm_ not the one infiltrating a giant H in the sky." Sasha nodded a silent agreement, slowly, hand twitching a little; there were no goggles around her neck to fiddle with, so she simply crossed her arms and looked away. August tried and failed to ignore the sinking in his stomach. He wasn't sure why she was trying to spark a conversation. Not with how everything had fallen apart like so much debris between them these past few days. It was with great effort he pushed away the subconscious needling at him that he _did_ know. Far more than he'd want to admit.

He felt his chest lift a little when she spoke to him again, even as he simultaneously wanted to slap himself in the back of the head. "You...really think this is going to work?" She asked, mouth quirked in concern. It was strange seeing her so nervous. This veritable Pandoran warrior who hardly blinked when everything went to Hell in a handbasket, as quick to grab her gun as put on a daring smile and rush headlong into danger. Then again, he imagined it wasn't every day she was caught in a convoluted web of double-crossing and hostage-taking. Then again, maybe not. He was starting to question everything as of late.

"Sasha. _Babe._ " He said, trying a little too hard to sound casual. "I've known _dumber_ people to pull off heists like this and hardly anybody got killed."

The woman frowned and crossed her arms again. "That's...promising."

Fiona walked over, wearing a similar outfit to her younger sister and looking strange without her iconic hat. "So, you do this often?" She asked.

The mob boss leaned back a little and cast a weary look at the ceiling. "As much as I'd _love_ to make a habit of screwing over Hyperion, I also have a bar to run. So, no."

Fiona tilted her head in what he was learning was how she showed disbelief. "You're a gangster and you don't usually deal in sabotage?"

August met her gaze. "I didn't say _that_." The man wasn't particularly interested in sharing the nitty, gritty details of how he juggled his multiple lifestyles. Not when he had already let someone in and was still figuring out whether or not he was regretting it. Sasha looked between them, seeming to hold back a laugh.

"I've never been called the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm certainly not the worst one to use when going out into space!" Scooter called from above, waving a wrench. "This ol' gal will be up and running sometime tonight, if you fellas want to just kick back for a bit!" August raised his eyebrows. Fiona pointed at him with a scowl.

" _Be nice_."

With little to do he hung back and smoked a cigarette, listening to the idle talk of the group as the day shifted from afternoon to evening with a cave worm's deliberateness. Sasha didn't say anything to him the rest of the day.

Walking out onto the open terrace later that night, he found his thoughts wandering to many weeks prior, back when he and Sasha lay on the sands outside Hollow Point and talked about nothing and everything at once. While she wasn't too thrilled about the mission (nobody was), he imagined she was looking forward to finally getting off of Pandora. To the stars she always stared at, even when they were out of view. It was hard to figure out if he was happy for her or not, what with the destination still being a literal compost pile.

The initial take-off had proven exciting and terrifying in equal measure, the now updated caravan trembling and jerking as if ready to fall apart at any second. Fiona and Sasha were the only ones that seemed relatively unbothered, heading straight to the side window to stare out onto the stars once they hit drift, talking quietly among themselves. August was working overtime to appear to anyone who gave shit that the reason he hadn't moved an inch was because he felt like he was two wrong moves from throwing up all over the place. He gripped the safety guards on his seat, staring at something or another on the wall, avoiding Rhys' smug gaze.

_"Leave them on the station."_

_"What?"_

_"Don't make me repeat myself."_

Never questioning her. Never arguing. He had bowed his head like a good obedient son, subservient to her wishes even as he struggled to convince himself that it was to maintain the lifestyle they had all worked so hard to keep. August wouldn't have even sent his worst enemy to rot away on Hyperion. ...Well, he would. But his worst enemies weren't Sasha. Or Fiona. Hell, not even Rhys or Vaughn. Even through the bitterness, it was difficult to pin down just who he was most angry at. He just wanted to get it all _over_ with.

His (relatively) stable lifestyle had been thrown into flux before he even knew it happened. Things had finally been looking up. Everything was going to change for the better. He had cemented the deal of a lifetime, enough money just outside his grasp to get him out of Hollow Point and out from his mother's suffocating shadow. With a woman that appeared in his life like some rogue comet, transforming into something more precious than anything he had ever encountered before. When he was reaching the nihilistic point in his life where he thought he would never rise further than the son of a crime boss, than his small bar in Hollow Point's filthy underbelly.

He tried not to think about the two sisters, staring out into the void and whispering about a better future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little shorter and cuter before the, er. Heavier shit. 
> 
> Have I ever talked about how much I love Gortys? Because I fucking _love_ Gortys.


	13. Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When something goes right, you can bet it will go wrong.

_One. Two. Three._

Chalk bursts in plumes upon impact, lingering in sluggish clouds. Dust settles dreamlike in the air with every brief lull before stirring again. The sandbag was nearly unrecognizable at this point, dented and soggy and misshapen like old gum on concrete. Every traumatizing groove the man wore into the cloth broke one similar into his soul, a constant dialogue he would kick up every time he entered the dusty little enclave. Nobody came here. Nobody knew where it was. Just how he liked it. Even the rats would scurry quietly from hole to hole, mindful of the wrathful element that always returned to the middle of the room without fail weekend after weekend.

_One. Two. Three._

The workweek had nearly put August out, his bar garnering a sudden influx of business thanks to yet another settlement that had cropped up by Hollow Point. It was all he could do to stave off a cold from the stress, popping vitamins and resisting alcohol until his throat became less scratchy (thanks to Sasha he was actually able to nap in the back room once in a while). Word around town was that the increased activity was thanks to a new gang moving in, scrapped together with little more than hasty promises and big dreams, eager for the respite a grimy city-town could give them in light of the desert's more miserable, scattered camps. A few rumors, angrier and _far_ more fervent, believed it to be some underground Hyperion scheme. As paranoid as he was, he knew Helios minions were far too hoity-toity to get their hands dirty so close to the bandits they despised. It was likely the former and, as such, something that actually warranted his attention. Even though he'd rather forget about it altogether.

_One. Two. Three._

Memories billowed into the chalk scrubbing his vision. Crowds were howling his name, a faint roar that set fire to his blood. Swift as a scavenger he struck the bag, subsituting the dents and pops of dust with the crunch of teeth, the blossom of red. A voice, hoarse from overuse, filtered through the silence. _'He's down! He's down! Is he going to get back up? Look at all that fucking blood, there's no way in hell he's going to-'_ August's breath came in heavy pants, cold and white, the chill of the dank little room blistering to nothing on his skin as he struck again and again and again. Dancing on his feet, ducking his head, imagining an arm aiming for his face and seeking to crumple the nose's fragile bone.

_'He's up! He's **up!** '_

A tangled mess of wire and wood swells into his periphery. Arms wave and thrash, beating at the shadows the dingy light courted above. Everything stings of dirt and iron. Chalk turns to dust, yellow as piss. His heartbeat hammers as he faces yet another menace birthed from Hollow Point's rotting underbelly, shit-poor and angry and blood desperate for extra change. Skin twists as August tightens his hand wraps. Phantom bruises ache on his cheeks, his neck. He can almost feel heat dribbling from his nose.

_One, two, thr-_

The illusion is shattered when his headset beeps, muffled from where it hid inside his discarded jacket. Shaking tremulously and dragging an arm across his forehead he steps away, walks over to the corner of the room and scrounges around, breath coming in heaving pants from the hour's exertion. The jolts of electricity that shivered throughout his bloodstream were better than any manufactured high. He fumbles with the button as he glances at the old clock by the door. Evening.

 _'August! Come in.'_ Raine yelled on the other end, the receiver crackling faintly in what must be a struggling connection. That was odd. Her friend normally manned communications.

"Yeah?" He asked, shoulders tensing at the urgency in her tone. Popping open a water bottle he took a deep drink, ignoring the sloshing complaints of his near-empty stomach. Free time was feeling more and more like a rare commodity. It was getting to the point where it wasn't even free.

_'We're in big trouble.'_

He pushed hair from his forehead, sticky and cold with sweat. "...And?"

The woman's voice came in a hiss. _'The fucking Shivs ambushed us.'_

August slowly set the bottle down and picked up his coat. Adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving his head floaty and slightly ringing. "If this is a joke it's a pretty bad one, Raine." He growled into the receiver, spine tingling uncomfortably when she cursed.

 _'You think I'd **joke** about this?!'_ He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. His thoughts came together in a jumble, a mess of details and strategies. _'Look, you need to get up here. Wherever you are.'_ She continued, the stress in her voice fighting for dominance over the bad connection. _'I'm right outside the East wall. Hurry up.'_

Without another word he turned off the light, locked the door behind him and wound his way out the back, heading through the narrow, crooked tunnels that lead to the hideout. The only people that bothered to hunch through these inner pathways were drug addicts and thieves, both of which weren't particularly inclined to accost him at any given point in time. His visits were methodical and expected; the lone straggler sitting along the length of the tunnel hardly glanced his way before focusing on her smoke.

In lieu of his bike he'd chosen to walk, wanting his temporary time alone to be as simplistic as possible (last time he'd gotten lazy and wound up coming back out to a slashed tire and two bodies he didn't bother checking for signs of life). Unfortunately, that meant he also had time to think. Grinding hands into his pockets he kept his gaze ahead, organizing his thoughts like he would the glasses on the Purple Skag's back shelf. Every gang had a rival. It was more than a way of nature -- it was a goddamn _formality_. Enemies meant someone had something to lose. Respect, money, power. All of it. The Shivs had been theirs.

They had done nothing but harass his family nonstop since they first established themselves in Hollow Point, having previously enjoyed years of barely threatened dominance over the Rust Commons East. As such, they had zero patience for newcomers seeking anything close to the reputation they'd built. The Shivs had been deceptively mild at first, occasionally accosting Vallory's members from completing their shipments with casual threats here, a confrontation that went nowhere there. August still remembered when three had cornered him in an alleyway, holding their poisoned knives to his throat and joking to one another about all the letters they could spell with his entrails. The only reason he had come out alive and (relatively) intact was their desire to send a message to his mother and everyone else who trailed behind her. Little did they know about his ambition. Vallory's long memory.

When it was made clear they had no intention of leaving, much less backing down, the Shivs' approach changed. Their sporadic threats had become constant successes, doing everything from outright disrupting their shipments to stealing their equipment under the cover of night to picking off weaker members who found themselves at the wrong place at the wrong time. Transforming into an all-around thorn in their side, one they couldn't pluck no matter how much they twisted. It was different than his days in the outlands, getting into scuffles for change and occasionally shooting down clanless bandits with his brothers from the safety of perches. Their violence was calculated. Suffocating. A constant lesson they had signed up for the moment they bought a complex in the lower parts of Hollow Point.

The East wall winked invitingly as he stepped out of the tunnels, stale air traded for the familiar sting of smoke and trash. Excess energy began to make him twitch again. He wanted nothing more than to be with Sasha, shooting bottle cans off of fence posts or driving across the sands, listening to her laugh carry on the breeze.

If Raine's report was as visceral as it sounded, it was tempting to contact her and ask for a helping hand. August kept his eyes forward and his walk steady when he passed a group of workers off their shift, feeling a sigh working its way through his chest. He knew better. Sasha wasn't always open with him, but there was absolutely no hiding the weariness in her eyes lately. He had given her time off and he was going to stick by it, though it didn't stop him from entertaining spending one of those evenings with her. Maybe get her a gift beforehand. With a start he remembered a new gun shop had opened in town, an acquaintance of an acquaintance attempting to kickstart a business in light of the growing population. He could get her a deal on a new model.

The man's thoughts almost distracted him from his route. He sped up as he hit the stairs, Raine and her bike coming into view just outside the cave opening. Shadows crept around the bandit's feet; he noted her scuffed helmet, her pants coated in grime. Even the way she breathed suggested she had just barely got back from the chaos that had apparently happened off-screen from his day.

"All right." He said as he approached, crossing his arms. "Explain."

She flicked her ponytail from her shoulder, hopping onto the motorcycle. "I'll explain on the way. Get on."

August sighed and settled behind her. He _really_ should've brought his bike. "Then hurry the hell up. You sounded like you were having a heart attack over the phone." She revved out onto the sands, heedless of a pair of workers barely diving out of the way. It was another minute until she spoke.

"Like I said, the Shivs ambushed us. _Dozens_ of the fuckers. We thought they'd finally started backing the hell off..." August's scoff was drowned by the motor. Raine had only been in the gang for a year at the most -- she hadn't seen them in their heyday, when they would regularly clash in _and_ out of the city-town in a constant grapple for power. The omnipresent lust for violence, their inclination toward pettiness. Shit, it was enough to rival Vallory's. Their reduced activity in recent months had given them all quite a break, enough to make August believe they were finally starting to ebb toward the inevitable reality of all gangs after enough time. Apparently not.

"We've already lost some people." She yelled over the roar of the engine. "They rammed a truck into our shipments when we were going down the back roads past Little Flagon. Damn near blew the entire thing up. Vallory was pissed. Arrow didn't make it out and Brandy nearly went down with her." August stifled a sigh, rolling the scenario in and out of his head as she spoke. It'd been a while since he'd fought alongside his mother. She only seemed to get busier and busier, much preferring to hire out mercenaries and temp bandits in light of showing up to the party. Her appearance was usually a last-ditch effort, a sign that her presence was the one thing keeping everything from going to shit. It was hard to tell if he was pissed or relieved she hadn't demanded him accompany her on this particular run.

"It was supposed to be a regular damn back-and-forth. Visiting Holo, then Marcus, right? I was perched up with Yelena, keeping an eye out..." She cut herself off, suddenly. The mob boss had to resist the urge to flick her helmet; she was high-strung, that much had become clear the moment she was brought into the group as a spare gun. Her tone, though, was beginning to bother him.

August raised his voice a little. " _And?_ " Raine veered past a small outcrop, giving it a healthy berth. Shadows flickered within.

"Motherfuckers are holed up at the Centennial Factory." She finished, sounding strangely out-of-breath as she pointed ahead. August frowned, peering over her shoulder. The plant rose out of the ground like a bad omen, all shadows and angles against the evening orange. It was taller than even the biggest complex in Hollow Point, coated in dusty and cracked windows probably impressive back in its prime. Robots stuck out of the sand leading up to its front entrance for what seemed like miles, zombie-like, broken and covered in inches of dirt from some fight in the past. Raine slowed down a little, mindful of all the jagged edges that threatened to pop her tires.

"Of _all_ the places..." He muttered under his breath as she steered away, heading around and up a steep slope that looked over the area. The Centennial had been around for a while, though whether or not it actually lived up to its name was up for debate (a hundred years of _anything_ was a fairly foreign concept on Pandora). It had been shut down in recent years thanks to nonstop bandit raids attempting to pilfer whatever they could get their hands on before the factory's guard robots got to them -- while technology and money were pretty effective weapons against scavengers, there was only so much engineers and scientists could do against regular onslaughts. The greatest irony even now was how the place had turned into a virtual haunted house once the workforce packed their bags, most bandits and travelers now too scared shitless to even go near the place due to the rabid A.I. that was said to still wander the halls and shoot anything that moves.

"I hate robots." He grumbled.

An outcrop of jagged rocks greeted them, clustered on top of a slope leading into the series of uneven hills that branched around the abandoned factory. Raine clicked on her receiver. "I got August. Tell me you got back-up."

Scov's tenor filtered through their headsets as they approached. " _About time you guys got here...they're all goin' nuts, I swear_." There were dozens of members waiting for them on the crest of the hill, some in full gear and others looking like they just rolled out of bed. The rock cluster shielded them from view from all except the rakks wheeling overhead. Judging by their shifting feet and alert stances, they were itching for action.

Brandy limped off her makeshift perch, offering the mob boss a snaggletoothed smile as he stepped off the bike. Her leg was almost entirely coated in bandages. "Hey, now. No worries. They ain't gonna hurt Vallory. They need her as bait, after all."

August froze. "... _What?_ "

The sniper's face fell. She looked from Scov to Raine and back again, hastily. "Wait, you didn'...? Oh, you didn' _tell_ 'im. Why _me?_ Why do I gotta break the news?" The mob boss' eyes widened, instinctively, scanning every single face in the group. His bandits shuffled nervously, checking their pistols or glancing at the sky. Brandy nudged Raine, who shoved her away and crossed her arms, agitated, not meeting August's gaze.

"Yelena was captured." She said after a moment.

Brandy nudged her again, harder.

"...And Vallory."

Scov held up his hands, pleadingly, even as he quailed under August's wild stare. "Look, it was a _shitshow_. Nobody could've predicted this." He hesitated, then continued in a rush. "We got ambushed, right? She told you that much? We were just escortin' Vallory to a deal, keep her safe like usual. Down the, uh, eastern roads. Away from all the traffic. Bunch o' Shivs popped out of the woodwork, like they knew where we was goin'. I never told a soul. None of us did. Must've been trackin' us, yeah? One crashed a car into us, wrecked most o' the ore we was gonna trade. Shot the tires, flanked us, the whole shebang-"

He cringed when August interrupted. " _Who_ was guarding her?" Cloth rustled as the entire group pointed to Raine. The air seemed to freeze. A rakk screeched overhead. The woman in question twitched, clearly warring with her combative nature and the hot pot she'd found herself in.

"Look, Yelena was injured. They got to her. I had to get her to safety. It's not my fucking _fault_ -"

Raine gasped as August grabbed her by the front of her shirt and slammed her against a rock. "You _know_ what you fucking signed up for." He hissed into her face. "You don't get paid to guard a mob boss and make that _second_ priority." She held up her hands in a show of submission, even as the gesture didn't quite reach her eyes. It was enough to make him want to set an example, right then and there.

With monstrous effort the mob boss let her go, pushing away the cold horror that threatened to turn his stomach. They didn't have time. Not with the ticking clock above their heads. It wasn't that his mother couldn't handle herself in a tough situation. The Shivs had been at their throats for so damn long, it was nothing _new_ to her. Kidnapping, on the other hand...

He turned to the group, instincts kicking into high gear. "Where did they take her?"

Shebbra stepped out of the cluster of bodies, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. "They might have taken her to the Centennial. By the time the fight cooled down our sniper pair here saw a few Shivs heading down the road, with another bunch taking refuge in the factory." She puffed a drag into the chilling air; it was a good idea they called the family doctor down, though her tired eyes and bloodied hem suggested she'd already gotten to work. "Unfortunately they couldn't tell which one had Vallory. We all gathered whatever was left in the rubble and hid it beside the main roads. We got Sir Five and Miss Twenty down there guarding the lot and I don't like their odds if a bandit group comes upon 'em, if I'm being frank."

August turned toward the factory, watching it steadily. "Did they give out demands?"

Shebbra chuckled. "Yeah. One million."

"In their wildest goddamn _dreams_." He muttered. Vallory would cut all their fingers off _personally_ if it got out they'd actually followed the demands of a rival gang. Even with her life on the line. "You said you _just_ got out of the scrap?" He asked.

Scov nodded eagerly. "Not even an hour ago, boss."

August rubbed his chin. "Then that means they're still licking their wounds." His bandits inched closer, hefting their rifles, picking up on his tone of voice. They knew an impromptu plan when they heard one.

"We don't have all night to figure this out. We have to get in there, now, and fuck them up while they're still getting their bearings." He crossed his arms, looking at each bandit in turn, feeling the spark of action pricking at his skin. "We'll split up. I need a group to go down to the backroads and see where the stragglers went. Scov and Brandy will pick off any of the posted guards at the Centennial. Keep a few out here by the bikes for when we come back out. We have to coordinate perfectly or it'll all be for nothing." He put on a smile, even if he was sure it came out more like a snarl. "Let's make them regret getting out of bed this morning." A rumble of laughter answered him. Never let it be said he wasn't one for morale.

"So what's going to stop them from just shooting her when they see us?" Raine asked.

August breathed in through his nose. "That's why they won't see _us._ " He looked at the rest of the group. "I'll go in and find her. Raine will be my second pair of eyes."

A drawn-out _haaawk_ and spit announced Smokey's arrival. "Gon' see if I can't jolt the power." He drawled, pulling on his goggles and shrugging on his backpack. The scent of tobacco followed him like a shroud. "Y'all will need more than one distraction, I reckon." The mob boss nodded slowly, giving the man the floor. He was the only one besides Shebbra he trusted with conjecture. "Saw a few generators 'round back, probably locked with lil' more than rusted nails. Upside is y'all will get a few seconds' surprise when the Shivs see the place light up like a firework. Downside is you won't be able to sneak no more. If'n you can find Vallory in there we'll cause some commotion. Jus' give me the signal."

"How the hell will you turn on the power? Place has been dead for _years._ " Brandy asked, eyes round. Smokey just coughed and spat, gathering his equipment and chuckling all the way down the hill. Wordlessly the bandits set themselves into motion, Shebbra hopping onto one of the bikes and heading down the road. August zipped up his coat and pulled out his pistol. Raine trailed after him as he descended the slope, silent. The growing dusk crept at their heels, darkening their surroundings and cloaking all but their faint scuffs in the sand.

Some of the defunct robots were so large they seemed to swallow the sky up close, even sticking out of the ground half-way like tombstones. He could only imagine what they were originally used for (probably construction work or an impressive amount of violence). Raine kept watch a few feet away as he approached the side of the factory, as broad and bare as a mountain, and figured out its footholds. A vent was just a handful of feet above his head. "Keep in touch, but keep it down. If they find you just play along. You'll likely be taken with the other captives." He said as he started to climb, though not before glancing over his shoulder. The bandit watched him, tense, clutching her rifle. "Fuck this up and you'll wish you took Arrow's place."

He climbed up and over, crawling through the hole and making his way inside.

August kept his breath steady as he moved through the dark vent, flicking away cobwebs as they snagged on his hair and struggling not to cough. He peered through a grate into the first room he encountered. It was incredibly cold, smelling of old oil and dust. Nothing. Second room. Eerily warm, filled with a monotonous, low droning his ears could hardly pick up on. Nothing. Third room. Same as the first. _Nothing._ Using the light on his pistol he clawed a mark into the vent sides, as quietly as he could, marking his progress like a trail of breadcrumbs. He huffed on his fingers to warm them, feeling his isolation acutely.

He didn't believe in ghosts, but he could see where a person would develop a debilitating superstition -- the entire place felt fucking _wrong_. Aside from an occasional distant _tap-tap_ , methodical and punctuated enough to suggest a natural origin, each sneak peek into the surrounding rooms revealed a place entirely undisturbed and uninhabited. It was not unlike his enclave, but instead of a dull quiet and the scuttering of rats his ears were met with a disenchanting nothingness. Shadows crept at the corner of his vision, blinking into static darkness every time he turned his head.

By the time he reached his circular scratch after a third go-around he decided he'd gotten enough of an impression as he could within the vents, choosing to enter the third room, even as his instincts clamored the contrary. While he would occasionally hear Raine's breathing on his earpiece she hadn't deigned to speak yet. Probably too guilty or too cautious. He moved through the room carefully, light held low, revealing nothing but dusty ground and the occasional curve of what must be a table or a chair. His ears strained to catch note of any noise, any at all. Rubbing dust from his nose he risked lifting his light to get a better view.

The mob boss' blood ran cold as he stood face to face with one round eye.

He swallowed his curse and took a step back, putting a finger on the trigger, knowing he couldn't shoot without someone hearing. The eye flickered, its inner workings clinking and whirring faintly. A voice, clipped and somber, filtered from somewhere within a tangle of metal.

_"In-In-Intruder...detected."_

August's skin clutched with goosebumps. Its voice was low, but in the quiet it was as loud as a damned siren.

_"St-St-State your business or die."_

Horror crawled up his spine as creaking and scraping filled the dark space. He took another step back and cursed as his foot hit something slippery, nearly taking him to the floor. Grabbing onto a hard corner he lifted himself up, only to jerk away when that hard corner _moved_. Eyes blinked into view, one by one, cold and soulless lights brightening the room and centering on his rigid form.

 _'What the hell was that noise?'_ Raine whispered into his ear. August didn't respond, already clambering up the wall and back into the vent, closing it tightly behind him, breath coming in short pants as he hurried down the length of the duct and hoped with all his might the machines were too big to follow. _'There are robots everywhere. They aren't moving, though. I don't see any damn Shivs, either. Where are you?'_

"Where the hell do you _think_ I am." He growled. He hated the scent of oil that never seemed to get less potent the more he breathed in. It was starting to make his head ache. Turning his flashlight this way and that he moved past his marks in the wall, maneuvering deeper into the factory. He inched between the gaps of a massive fan, forever still from disuse. "Better question is where the hell are _you_. I've seen a dozen rooms so far and not one goddamn Shiv."

 _'Place is dead as a doornail. It's also **huge**. If anyone's in here they could hide quiet as a cave worm. Shit, or not. We'd be none the wiser.'_ August whipped around at the distant sound of scratching. His light didn't reach the end of the duct, swallowed by that all-encompassing darkness. After a beat he turned around again, crawling like an animal, heart thumping against his chest.

"Yeah, well, it's got more life than it looks." He muttered. "Just got out of a room filled with robots. Not sure how I activated them but I'm not going to find out."

 _'So **that's** what that was.'_ She muttered.

"Yeah. Stay alert."

A moment of silence. Then...

_'Look, August...I'm sorry.'_

"Shut up." He hissed. "You think I'm interested in an apology?" He peered out of a vent, the room's stale air feeling downright fresh from where he had been breathing in dust and his own sweat. _'_

 _I mean it, okay? I know what it's like to lose family.'_ She answered, her emphatic tone somehow worse than her rebellious attitude just minutes prior.

"Just tell me where you are. We need to rendezvous." More scratching. He resisted the urge to fire a warning shot down the tunnel. It didn't sound like a rat.

Raine groaned. _'Seriously? The hell is this...? Well, chalk that up to another distraction.'_

"The hell are you talking about?" He growled, his ears starting to atrophy from the quiet, inventing sounds where there weren't any. What was that goddamn _scratching?_ He listened to scuffling and clanking over his earpiece, muffled from distance and the seedy connection.

 _'Nothing...I think. I came in from the other side, I'm in this hallway, it's got, uh, this tall statue...'_ She paused. August swallowed a curse. She was so easily distracted.

_'Wait...wait, there are voices...'_

His chest seized.

_'Yelena...?'_

"Hey...!" August cocked his pistol, hurrying down the vent, peering into every room and struggling to keep his clambering to a minimum. "Stick to the plan!" Silence greeted him. _'Damn it all!'_ He thought wildly. He was going to fucking kill her. The damn bandit was proving to be nothing more than a liability. One-track minded, only giving a shit about her own neck and her friend or girlfriend or partner-in-crime or _whatever_. He allowed himself a moment to seethe, even as his subconscious nibbled at him, insistent and cloying.

_'Aren't you in the same position, summer boy?'_

Another room. Another room. Another room. Nothing. Nothing. _Nothing._ Throwing caution to the wind he doubled back, past the fan, past his scratches, crawling out into the room he'd checked earlier -- its (relatively) fresh air suggested it was large, even huge, a starting point for moving throughout the factory. Dropping onto the ground and turning off the light he moved from space to space, feeling his way through, occasionally ducking through a window or moving back through the vents when a door wouldn't unlock. Shadows seemed to stir with every step. He only flicked his light on behind one hand, unwilling to risk being spotted by someone or something.

"I found your hallway." He whispered into the receiver, not expecting a reply. Instead he heard the bandit speaking, but not to him.

_'I'm unarmed, I'm unarmed. Don't kill me.'_

_Finally._ She found them. Or they found her. What did she say about a statue? He flicked the light over his surroundings, once, imprinting the glance to memory. Peeling posters and barred windows, shards of glass glittering on the floor...he nearly stumbled into the damn thing, smooth and wide and towering all the way up to the ceiling. Voices filtered from around it, down the hall, quieter than rats. Breath coming in anxious pants he followed the audio trail, searching the walls. Unlike the previous vents the only one he could find was on the ceiling, covered by a thin slab.

He worked it off, inch by inch, wincing at the scraping noises he couldn't quite contain.

"What was that?" He heard someone say from somewhere down the hall.

 _'Probably a robot. There are a ton in here.'_ Raine drawled over the receiver; August instinctively winced at the meaty _crack_ that answered her quip.

"Shut the hell up. They're all defunct." Faint mutters. A few curses. No time wasted. He leapt, once, twice, finally getting purchase and crawling up into the ceiling. His timing couldn't have been better -- he glimpsed flashlights blinking beneath him through the small square, waving back and forth for the source of the noise. Cat-like he crept toward the voices. Empty room, empty room, nothing, no-August's breath hitched as dim light glowed from down the pathway. He peered through the grate.

His mother cuffed, motionless, surrounded by a cluster of Shivs wearing their classic purple and yellow. A quick count numbered three, all armed and at the ready. They shuffled and looked around them in the dim orange glow, clearly uncomfortable as they whispered into their headsets. A fourth walked back into the room, turning off their flashlight and shrugging. August felt his head go fuzzy with relief when Vallory twitched.

She was alive.

"The hell is taking them so long..." One muttered, peering at his mother with a barely disguised agitation. "Not sure how long that knock to the head is gonna keep her out."

Another Shiv snorted through their headwraps. "What's she going to do, chew you out to death? Relax. This couldn't have gone better." The speaker moved to the side, checking their gun, revealing Raine and Yelena. The former was speaking, so low he couldn't hear, even over the headpiece. The other was limp, head lolling on one shoulder.

"Yeah, well. We got this girl to thank." Nudging the dark-haired woman, Yelena, still unconscious from the wound to her head. "That's fit for a promotion, huh?" He said with a chuckle, nodding to Raine and getting a scowl in response.

August's blood ran cold. So _that's_ how they found out. How they were able to ambush them, in spite of their deeply-ingrained protocol of irregular routes and communication scramblers. Go fucking figure. He couldn't trust a damn _rock_ in this shithole. The two had proved reliable enough in their day-to-day, Raine's decent aim matching well with Yelena's good sense. Now all he wanted was to see them dead. Backing way from his opening and keeping his voice low, he switched his connection. Smokey's harsh drawl greeted him.

_''Ey, boss. Ready?'_

August raised his pistol, peering through the vent bars at the scene below. He pressed his headpiece. "Yeah. Turn on-"

A cold hand grabbed the nape of his neck, yanking him backwards.

_" **Hngh!** "_

The mob boss twisted, hitting his back with a reverberating **slam**. Voices rose in a cacophony below, guns cocking at the sudden noise. A robot peered at him, upside-down, red eye glaring and bouncing off the metallic walls. The hand clenched. Crushing his throat.

_"In-In-Intruder..."_

August fired, right through that terrible eye, crying out as hot glass rained over his face.

"The fuck...?!" He heard one of the gang members yell. More cries followed, angry and pained, _thuds_ and _pops_ of gunfire sounding off in the small space. A few bullets went through the ceiling, leaving weak lines of light in their wake. The mob boss tumbled out of the grate onto the filthy floor. The robot followed after, crumbling in a tangled heap not inches away. It twitched like a dying thing, oil spilling out of the hole in its head.

Blinking blood from his eyes he got to his feet. His brain took stock of the situation mechanically -- smoke, bullet holes, limp bodies, a broken neck, his mother tied to the chair. The last Shiv was aiming right at his face, surrounded by his unconscious or dead peers. "Put it down." August growled, hoarse, the light weight of his gun signaling he was down to only a few more shots. The Shiv swayed nervously, looking from him to Raine to the robot. Vallory remained motionless. "I don't like your odds." The mob boss breathed. "You wanna die, torn to shreds by whatever the fuck has been sleeping here?" The gangster clutched his assault rifle, clearly debating just how much his life was worth.

That moment of hesitation. The Shiv jerked unnaturally, gun firing into the floor and pinging into the wall. August and Raine ducked to the floor and covered their heads. When he looked up again Vallory was standing, a knife deep in the man's ribs. One stab, two stabs, three. He fell to the floor, twitching. His mother wiped the blood on her dress, already covered in dirt and soot from the skirmish. Even then she looked somehow regal, standing to her full height and observing the scene before her like a scuff on her shoe. A true queenpin.

"Took you long enough. Was getting real tired of playing the part of the unconscious captive." She rasped, peering through her good eye. Hardly a glance was spared for the tangle of metal rapidly cooling behind him as she leaned down and took the Shiv's rifle. Raine was untying her partner, hoisting her over one shoulder, attempting to shake her awake. August felt his throat working strangely, a strange heat building behind his eyes.

"Ma, I'm..."

She held up a hand. "Save it. We need to leave while we still can."

He nodded, instinctively, ignoring the painful burning in his chest.

Lights flared, so sudden and so bright he saw stars. The room was a shocking white, broken only by intermittent splashes of red -- Smokey had activated the generator. The stunning quiet he'd been surrounded by vanished like fog from the sun, replaced with the howl of alarms. Vallory picked up one of the dead Shivs' headsets, listening to the crackle of voices that clamored for an update with a sneer. "I suppose that's our cue to go." She said, almost thoughtfully.

Creaking and shrieking and gunfire met them as they exited the room and entered one of the main halls. Everything was crystal clear and terrible. Lights flashed on the ceilings, bouncing color off of the all-encompassing white. The ceiling rose in grand arches above him, smooth as stone and decorated with strange, looping cords. He saw a robot crawling through a plate-glass window, wet and shiny with what couldn't be oil.

"You know where you're going, son?" Vallory yelled as she ran with him, past the chaos, past the few remaining Shivs giving up their hiding spots only to be crushed or drilled full of holes. He had no idea just how _many_ goddamn robots were in the place. Perched on wall stands like sentries, crawling out of doors. August fired over his shoulder at the metal monstrosities stirring from their slumber, sluggish from rust and disuse, still threatening with their terrible eyes and distorted voices. Bullets clanked harmlessly off their carapaces.

With a start he realized who wasn't with them.

_'Fuck. Fuck, fuck, **fuck.** '_

"I'll see you outside, Ma."

She turned and looked at him, eyes narrowed. Nothing sentimental. With a nod she simply cocked her rifle and walked into the chaos.

It didn't take long to find her. Even through the lights and noise he felt like he knew the place like the back of his hand. Raine was struggling with her partner's extra weight, moving down the hall at a meager pace, heading straight for one of the now-open back doors. A Shiv ran past her, uncaring of the captive, terror written in every line of their face. While he was tempted to save himself the trouble and pop one through their neck, business came first. The woman froze in mid-step as he cocked his gun. Chaos rang around them, muffled only barely through the walls.

She slowly turned, staring down his barrel.

"You think I didn't hear about your friend?" He said, casual, anything but. "It sounded like a pretty good reason to pull the trigger, Raine." He spat her name like a curse, cocking his gun and aiming right between her resentful little eyes. The man could care less that she had done what she was told. She had caused far too much trouble. Yelena lolled against her shoulder, hair caked with blood. He could smell death on her. The woman didn't have a lot of time left.

"Look, you don't understand." The bandit whispered, desperate. "They _caught_ her. Okay? Forced information out of her. They tried to finish her off."

"So, what, I'm supposed to feel bad she sold out the entire gang? Put everyone in danger, cost us money, nearly got my ma killed?" August snapped, feeling a sneer curl his lip.

"She was dead if she told you and dead if she stayed silent!" She hissed, almost yelling, holding the unconscious woman close, legs bent to flee but staying in place.

"That's not good enough, Raine. You _know_ that's not good enough." He growled. Why the hell was he arguing with her? Why hadn't he shot her yet?

"The fuck was I supposed to do? Let her die? Fat chance of you letting that happen to your mother."

"That's different-"

"Or your _girlfriend._ "

August opened his mouth, but no words came out. Raine stared him down. Alarms continued to howl around them, echoing off the blank walls. Gunfire had ceased. The faint droning of robot whispers could be heard as they stalked nearby. He fired.

One. Two. Three.

The man holstered his empty pistol, running a hand over his bone exhausted face. Raine slowly opened her eyes, looking down at the holes smoking just inches from her feet.

"Get the hell out of here. If I see you again..." He muttered. "...I'll kill you."

He didn't bother seeing them off. He didn't care. He wanted nothing more than the night to fade behind him like a bad dream. Stepping out onto the bare sands was like stepping into another world, the natural darkness of night contrasting the Centennial Factory's chaotic void and feeling like pure bliss on all his five senses. He took a deep gulp of the cold air, watching trucks and motorcycles circling in the distance, lights blinking against the now starry sky. He hardly registered one coming his way, nor the arm reaching out to him, nor his grabbing on and clambering into the back.

His head rang. Shadows and robot eyes flashed behind his eyelids with every long, tired blink. No matter how hard he pinched the bridge of his nose he couldn't push away the headache that was beginning to grow in his temples. A long night of gathering their lost cargo, patching up wounds and picking off stragglers was ahead of him. He hardly noticed Scov and Brandy congratulating him on his success and schmoozing to Vallory, nor Shebbra pecking him for the cluster of bruises around his neck. The celebratory howls of bandits high on a successful mission. When he got home he was going to drink himself to sleep. But first he was going to call Sasha. He needed to hear her voice.

 _'Hello?'_ The connection was crap but her voice was better than a million bucks. Even through his exhaustion it was hard not to smile.

"Hey, babe. What're you up to?"

 _'Just getting back from Little Flagon. You know, their beer isn't that bad. Got character, at least.'_ He closed his eyes, hunching on his knees, finally letting the faintest smile work its way on his lips. The doctor raised her eyebrows curiously.

"Yeah? I don't have to worry about you jumping ship, do I?" It was barely a joke, almost a plea.

_'Nah. Your place is way more exciting.'_

He winced as Shebbra applied a burning ointment onto scratches he didn't know were there. "I wanted to know...you want to do something next week? Just the two of us." With a guilty sinking of his stomach he remembered how tired she was. That she likely hadn't gotten much time to spend with her family lately. He was many things, but he wasn't a hypocrite. "...I mean, if you want."

His heart rose at the fondness in her voice. The little beacon in his life. One of the few people he could count on, even when everything when to hell in a handbasket.

_'Definitely.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, skipped a week! Came down ill and had an influx of work that had me busier than I'm used to. Doesn't help this chapter got pretty damn long, too.
> 
> I'm a bit of a sucker for A Day In The Life-style chapters in fanfictions. If you're eager for more Sasha and August smooching, don't worry -- there will be _plenty_ of that coming up.


	14. Fret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha and August finally get a break and decide to spend a little time together.

"Ready to go?"

"Ready as Freddy."

"Good, we just need to-wait, _what?_ "

It was the day after Mercenary's Day. Business had come and gone in erratic spurts since morning, either too many or not enough people filling up their shift at any given moment -- thanks to the raucous celebration that characterized the holiday many weren't keen on it actually _ending_ when the clock struck midnight, not that she could really blame them. Sasha had been unable to spend the day with August due to conflicting obligations (he had been tied up recovering lost cargo after a skirmish with some gang), so she decided to take to the streets with her sister after helping Felix with a delivery. The con woman always looked forward to the event year after year, thousands of bandits letting loose, getting drunk and participating in countless festivities both in and out of Hollow Point -- 'Last One Standing', 'Sleuce The Deuce', 'Keep Them In Your Sights', even 'Kick The Can'. Fiona was strangely good at that one.

She was long overdue for some alone time with the man, though, so she decided to work on what was _supposed_ to be her last day off; he had been rather surprised when she walked in during a rush, pulling her hair back and greeting customers with her usual bullshit work-smile. While he didn't say a word about it the rest of the day, she could tell the mob boss was grateful; he would occasionally put his hand on the small of her back when passing, stroking her hip below the counter where nobody could see.

He could barely disguise his envy when she detailed visiting the outlands and participating in the day's contests, winning second place and a week's worth of oil for the caravan (though she wasn't too happy about her placement). Trading stories and catching up, their shifts seamlessly dissolved into their routine of cleaning up spills and checking trip wires for closing. A would-be thief had tried to sneak out with the evening crowd, spotted only by Sasha's sharp eye and solved by Tector's talents -- the massive man had made it a point to wallop the guy _just_ in view of the customers descending down the steps, who talked over the howls and pretended they didn't notice. August was pulling on his coat, running fingers through his hair in the reflection of the grimy window and mulling over the night's plans.

"I got the okay from Shebbra, so this won't be like last time." He frowned. " _Shouldn't_ be like last time."

Sasha patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. I've got a spare leg in case it all goes to shit."

August turned his frown on her. "That's not funny."

The con woman shrugged and gave him a smile. "Come on, summer boy. Lighten up a little." His scowl deepened. She had been trying to cheer him up all day, attempting to crack through the temperamental mood he would get when he had a new deal to look forward to. It's not that she couldn't see why, what with the near-constant bullshit he seemed to be peppered with week after week. She just hated to see him so reticent. The man rarely got a break.

With a few ex-business partners written out (or dead) his list had long since been ripe for new additions. They had spent the majority of their lunch break poring over his contact lists and going over the histories of local businessowners and petty gang owners, circling the ones that showed promise on his Bullshit-O-Meter and others that weren't the risk.

_"I mean, they DO have a good resume. Punctual delivery, right here. That's a plus."_

_"Are they a cannibal?"_

_"Sash, that was ONE ti-"_

_"But **are** they a cannibal?"_

_"Okay. I've scratched them off the list. Happy?"_

_"You didn't even answer my question!"_

Eventually he had picked up the phone and cross-referenced while she took over the till, first with his family doctor and again with an engineer that worked back and forth between Little Flagon and Hollow Point. Sasha watched the Augustacle Course at work from the corner of her eye, how his gaze narrowed and mouth crooked at the unsatisfactory answers he was no doubt being handed from across the line. The man had honed suspicion to a fine art.

He set up a meeting near one of Hollow Point's production factories to go over the deal, somewhere 'obvious but not too obvious' -- a few turrets would go a long way in keeping their vehicles safe, August told her, in spite of the already isolated and difficult-to-reach location of their shacks. The owner he planned on meeting went by the name of Chunhua, widely considered by many to be a mad scientist (in the making) for her eccentric nature and deep love of anything mechanical. The con woman was going to look over his shoulder and provide a little intimidation should anything start to go south. Bullshit work-smile to bullshit work-frown. Definitely not the worst way to make money.

"Does she really have a robot boyfriend?" Sasha asked as she opened the car door, pushing a rag onto the cold leather seat before sitting down. She pulled on the thin sweater Fiona had loaned her -- it was a raggedy thing, covered in fading stars, but rather cute.

"None of my business." August replied with a shrug.

It felt good to sit in his truck again. There was something incredibly intimate about the spaces shared in cars, no doubt a personal leftover from living in caravans and trailer-hopping most of her life. Each moving space was decorated to within an inch of its limit, ever at war with the restrictions of poverty. What did Felix once call it? 'The unique fashion of poor inhabitants doing the best they can with what they have' -- she thought of how Fiona liked to turn her old shirts into curtains, a little side-project the two would do when bored and stuck inside. These thoughts filtered lazily in her mind as August wound his way through the crooked back-alleys and drove outside of Hollow Point only to make his way back inside; she had fixed his car radio ("My angelic voice needs a vacation.") and thanks to her efforts they were able to relax to the music of Flighty and Vico Vico Ninz, some of the few records her father would let her borrow.

"No Sad Son?" The man asked with a raised brow.

Sasha flung herself back in her seat with a dramatic sigh. "No! It sucks. I burnt out my last record and I can't find a single copy of his anywhere. People in Hollow Point have no taste." August put a hand on his chest in mock offense; Sasha retracted the comment with a flutter of her eyelashes. " _Most_ people in Hollow Point have no taste."

The ride felt sporadically short as he maneuvered through the narrow tunnels linking to Hollow Point's distant cousins -- these factories were held deep underground, heavily guarded from tunnel opening to tunnel opening to discourage brigands from raids and petty theft. Sasha didn't think those caves could get any mustier or colder than her old stomping grounds, but the factory grounds had the most biting chill she'd ever felt. Workers milled in and out of the surrounding metal buildings wrapped in scarves and thick coats, an almost surreal sight. One of the posted sentries hardly looked twice at August when they peered through the window; if anything they looked a little nervous, waving the pair inside and going back to their game of cards. _'Nice to see an upside to being a mob boss.'_ Sasha thought wryly, hiding a smile behind her hand.

Their destination was a hole in the wall at best. Bars covered the door like a cage, a flashing neon light blinking _'Chunhua's Repair And Robots: That's All I Got!!!'_ above the frame to let any passerby know exactly what they were getting into. August took the truck into a nearby alley, parallel parking and ending up almost sandwiched between two other cars. Sasha winced. A paint scratch was somewhere in their future.

"All right. It's just in there." He said as he shuffled out sideways, arms raised in the air to squeeze through the tight space. "We're going to try and work out a deal for supplies. We give her a little protection for her, uh, research. She splits what she finds and supplies us stuff for turrets, repair, better connections, basics like that. She seemed pretty interested in what I had to offer over the phone and she's apparently legit, according to Shebbra. In and out. No fuss, no pomp, no circumstance." Sasha snickered into her sleeve. The mob boss scowled over his shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing!" She said, clambering over the hood of someone's car before anyone could see her. The mob boss pulled out his notebook and walked up the steps to the door, muttering something about 'force of habit'. With a ring of the buzzer they waited in the light's harsh red glow, listening to the rumble of engines and distant yells of workers feet away. The con woman could just make out the smell of oil and something like burning plastic beyond her nose.

The door opened, revealing a slight individual covered head to toe in a gaudy red hazard suit. Sasha kept her face neutral, even as she felt a little tickled -- it wasn't every day she ran into someone shorter than she was. Pulling off the mask with a flourish they blinked at the pair through thick lenses, black hair reflecting the neon light with an oily sheen.

"August? Good. Good to see you." The woman nodded, as if confirming something to herself, reaching out a shaky hand. August took it firmly. "Bit late, just a bit. Hard to get down here sometimes. I get it. Thought you were-" She paused, abruptly, looking at Sasha as if just noticing her.

"There a problem?" August asked, following her gaze with folded arms.

"She, uh. She a friend? I mean, this is _confidential..._ "

"Business partner."

"Shebbra didn't tell me you had one of those."

"Wow. We gonna argue about this?"

"Absolutely not. _Definitely_ not. Please, come in."

With a wave of her hand Chunhua walked inside. Sasha gave August a confident nod as she followed behind, immediately taking stock of her surroundings as his second pair of eyes. Somehow the place seemed even more cramped than the truck they left in the alley -- filled nearly to the roof with strange contraptions, barrels of wire and boxes of supplies, it looked like a repair shop on steroids. Robots were stacked along the walls and propped beside the doorway like cargo, missing limbs and eyes, likely discarded husks of past projects or works-in-progress. A few workers shuffled in and out of the brightly-lit room without looking at them, dressed in the same red suits and looking at notepads.

"I'm not going to breathe in anything radioactive, am I?" August said with a smirk, though Sasha caught his quick glances at the defunct robots. Chunhua cleared off a table in the middle of the room with a sweep of her arm, rolling up spreadsheets and picking up screws to set them on the floor. Sasha shook her head as the mob boss offered her a chair. With past shenanigans still fresh in her mind, she didn't even want to be sitting down if anything were to suddenly go wrong. Knowing their luck one of the robots was going to come to life in the middle of the meeting and suplex August.

"The suits are to prevent burns. This place hasn't been radioactive for three years." She adjusted her glasses she sat down. "I think." Sasha stood behind the man, hand on her hip and gaze level as the two pulled out notes and figures -- Chunhua's skittish glances her way were anything but subtle and the con woman couldn't help but feel a certain tinge of pride. August's reputation was far-reaching. Clearly he wouldn't have just _anybody_ watch his back.

"I can make a turret in a second. I can improve one far quicker." Chunhua muttered, scribbling on her notes with one end of the pen and scratching her nose with the other. "You know my work. I mean, Shebbra told you, yes. Doctor told me you have the old Firebrand models, right? For skirmishes?" August nodded, brows furrowing a little at the woman's derisive laugh-turned-cough. "A, er, less-than-stellar choice. For your standards."

"Nice save." August drawled. Sasha narrowed her eyes over his shoulder for emphasis. _'Watch that fuckshit, Chunhua.'_ The woman hesitated a moment, shuffling through her papers and adjusting her glasses. Only the mutters of her workers and distant tinkering could be heard. Sasha saw someone move in the corner of her eye, a strange, metallic silver instead of the red she had become acquainted with. With a deep breath the scientist continued.

"My talents can create truck mounted turrets with better aim, durability _and_ advanced tracking monitors. Give me your equipment, any and all, and I'll practically have them singing by the end of the week. All I need are your best members to watch my back when I, uh. Go salvaging. Yes. Very dangerous out there. My workers don't lack for spirit, but they're better at crunching numbers and stabbing backs than popping off bandits. Directly proportional. Two guards per turret fixed. They do the job well, I could even look over your truck engines. Good will, you know. I get my equipment, you get your upgrades, we all live to see another day, yes?"

The mob boss narrowed his eyes. "That it?"

Chunhua waved one of her workers away when they attempted to get her attention. "...Yes. That _is_ what I said."

August frowned. He seemed a little unbalanced, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed again. "You _know_ if you don't deliver things will get messy." Sasha's hand itched for her gun. Should she pull it out to punctuate his words?

The scientist nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course. Standard protocol. You know where I live." Her worker approached her again, tapping urgently on their clipboard. With a sigh Chunhua asked for their patience, turning and reading what they were trying to show her.

The air of finality in the room couldn't be ignored. August and Sasha looked at each other with raised brows.

\--

The factory grounds heaved and chugged lethargically, as if the cold air was making the machinery feel as sluggish as the residents. August and Sasha stood outside again in the lights' glow, listening to the crackle of the sign's aging circuits. There were no moths in these caves.

"...Dang." Sasha breathed, watching her breath cloud in front of her face. "That went really well."

"Yeah." August said, rubbing the back of his head, scowl firmly lining the corners of his mouth. "Too well." He looked over his shoulder at the door, as if expecting the scientist to jump out at any moment and proclaim _'Gotcha!'_ with jazz hands.

"Ready to do something fun?" Sasha offered, pushing her hands into her pockets. When the man didn't answer she stifled a sigh -- he was no doubt dwelling on what-ifs and could-haves. "Come on. Something went well for once and you look like a bullymong just shat in your car seat."

August cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah? That doesn't _mean_ anything, though." He pointed directly at her face when she bit her lip. "The deal going right. _Not_ the bullymong shitting in my truck. I can't _believe_ I told you about that."

Rocking back and forth on her feet she shrugged. "We haven't been shot at yet. That's worth celebrating, huh? Take what you can get, dude." The mob boss shook his head, not quite in disagreement, and made his way down the steps toward the alley. Sasha kept pace, feeling her stomach jump in anticipation. The man looked his truck over in the dim light for anything unsavory, eventually peering below the hood to check for nails.

"I heard Old Weezer is fighting tonight." She said, suddenly. August's head whipped back up. Sasha grinned.

"Wait. Old Weezer? He hasn't come down in _years_. Where'd you hear that?" Sasha reached into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled advertisement she'd swiped off one of the marketboards earlier that week. It was covered in sex hotline numbers and hastily scribbled rude commentary, but the crinkled mug of the old fighter stood out like a beacon. August snatched it from her hands to squint at the photo, eyes roaming up and down. Sasha's chest grew warm as the man's face slowly, finally, relaxed into a smile.

"Get into the truck. We're _going_."

The air was thick with smoke when they arrived, dozens of people milling around the entrance to Sour Corner, one of the city's most popular fighting rings. While the place was never short on shoddy entertainment, this ring brought in the most people thanks to its frequent schedule and (more) capable fighters. At least, that's what August told her. Sasha had rarely the time or the interest for the subculture, but even she was starting to pick up on the excitement that was ebbing around her. Posters coated the walls as they walked in, some wanted portraits and others advertisements.

"All right, we'll be going to section C down the stairs. I haven't seen this guy fight in years. Damn. I used to watch his old videos when I couldn't make it down here." August said as they walked, a touch breathless. Visitors glanced at him here and there, occasionally muttering behind their hands and remaining careful not to get in his way. They soon ended up in a crowded hallway, everyone pushing and clustering to get their wrists marked at the door.

"What can I say? I got good taste." Sasha said, unable to hold back a laugh when he squeezed her waist.

"Yeah, babe." He said, leaning down for a kiss. "You do."

" _August?_ That _you?_ "

The mob boss bristled and went stiff as a hand clapped his shoulder. Sasha sighed through her nose and scowled over his shoulder. The offending party, a burly man with swollen arms, spread his mouth in a grin; the con woman felt her stomach turn at the sheer lack of teeth on display.

"Shit, August. Super Skag. Nah, nah. _Purple_ Skag, right? Sorry, haven't seen you around, man!"

The mob boss clearly wasn't interested, flicking the man's hand off his shoulder and fixing him with a long stare. "I can't imagine it's easy to see anything with semi-permanent black eyes, Boris."

The hallway's eager chatter lowered to a murmur. A few people looked their way, more than a little curious at the change in the air. Boris held up his hands. "Hey, hey. I'm just saying hello." Sasha tried to look casual as they spoke, as well as look anywhere _but_ his mouth. Had August knocked all those out?

"I'm here for the show. Unless _you'd_ rather become one." The mob boss said, a touch flatly. The smoke wasn't the only thing clogging the hall; the awkwardness in the air could be sliced with a knife. Boris glanced from side-to-side, as if judging whether or not a sudden brawl would be worth the trouble. Wordlessly the mob boss pushed past him, past the onlookers, heading downstairs where the air grew muggier. Sasha followed, watching him bristle like an animal in a cage. A handful of disappointed moans trailed after them.

She peered at him as they descended the steps. "The heck was that?"

"A prick." He growled, brows furrowed. Sasha resisted the urge to stomp back up the steps and knee the man in the crotch. Damn it. It took her _forever_ to get August to smile today. The air turned choking and hot as they entered the tiny stadium and picked the best seat they could find in the crowd.

"Ugh. How can you see anything through this smoke? Feel like I'm underwater." She asked, stifling a cough and offering one of the more pushy customers a glare. August didn't take his eyes off the ring as he sat down.

"You get used to it. Look." Sasha leaned up in her seat, attempting as best she could to make out the fighters between the shadowed heads crowding her vision. They made it just time.

She could see the younger fighter ("That's Snake. He's a blowhard.", August scoffed) trading pre-match insults with the show's main draw -- Old Weezer was a tall and surprisingly scrawny older man, his shock of dark skin and white hair standing out amidst the bad lighting and close quarters. He was already in a fighting position, even as his opponent slapped his knee and attempted to shave away his morale with pettiness.

"Come _on_ , old man." She heard him cackle through the speakers above, cracking his neck and pointing churlishly. "Death is gonna do you in before I blacken one of those eyes!"

The older man coughed and hacked, probably a smoker, barely audible over the crowd's yelling. "Ah canne hear ye over my impressive resume or tha' _trash_ ye call a haircut."

Snake waved his tattooed arms to the audience for support, grin visible even at a distance. "You're kidding. I could come up with better insults than that in my sleep."

"My ass has come up with better insults on the shitbowl." Sasha muttered under her breath. August snorted his agreement. The crowd ate it up, though, howling and jeering in time with their favorites. Judging by the intensity of the screams whenever Old Weezer opened his mouth, it seemed like he still had more than a few fans even after his hiatus. Sasha tugged on her goggles. "Uh, is he called Old Weezer because he sounds like he's constantly about to die?"

August's eyes widened. "Show some respect, Sash. Guy's got over ten years of fighting under his belt." He paused. "...Though that _is_ the general consensus, yeah."

The bell rang. Sasha grimaced as she was jostled back and forth between the crowd, choosing to stand up and get a better view in lieu of being crushed. Peering through the waving arms she found her brain subsituting the main fighter with August -- it was hard not to imagine what he must've looked like back in the day, leaner and meaner, probably without the goatee or piercings. Idly she considered how painful it would be to lose one of those rings to a punch as the two men circled one another, shifting into characteristic fighting shuffles as the referee yelled the beginning of the match. While she couldn't hear the crunches and cracks over the howl of the crowd, she could certainly feel it in her gut.

"Fuck him up, Weezer!" She jumped as she heard August roar over the head of the crowd, easily a head taller than most people in the room. "Blueball the dickhead!" The two fought like kraggons, less a brawl and more a cage fight without the cage. Old Weezer was only a touch more deliberate than his opponent, matching the younger fighter in intensity more than Sasha would've thought possible for his age. Every swing and grapple carried years of weight behind it, their efforts soon filling the small space with enough dust to almost obscure them. Despite the man being a fighter with a reputation, still supported by a cluster of fans, he felt like an underdog. Snake was younger. _Far_ quicker. With every wheezing breath and last-minute dodge Sasha felt Weezer was one wrong step away from getting his back broken.

She found herself rooting for the man, then, standing up and cheering as he took advantage of a bad dodge on Snake's part to send him spinning to the floor with a haymaker. The crowd roared in response, standing up and punching the air as the younger fighter twitched in a heap. The shivers on her skin never quite seemed to leave when she and August left the building.

Lifting up her shirt and taking a disgusted sniff, Sasha wondered if she'd ever get the stench of sour cigarettes out of her clothes. "That wasn't half bad." She admitted as she stepped away from the crowd and breathed in the cool air. August rolled his eyes, a smile working its way around the corner of his mouth. The con woman cocked an eyebrow as they walked to his truck.

"...What?"

The man looked strangely smug. Sasha had half a mind to remind him he would've missed a decent show without her help until he suddenly spoke.

"So, there's a new gun shop in town..." He started, only to try and fail to hold back a laugh when Sasha took his hand and jumped up and down.

"What? Where? _Where?_ We need to go. Immediately."

"Oh, yeah. I was getting to that." He laughed. "We should go."

The con woman playfully punched his shoulders as they locked the truck and walked toward the market. It was sweet of him to try and pay her back. While she did her best to hide the worst of her frustrations from the man, he always managed to figure out when she wasn't at her best (the inevitable side-effect of getting closer, she supposed). Even when she shared her trip to Little Flagon the mob boss, _somehow_ , weaseled out of her that she had barely gotten to the town with her insides intact. The look in his eyes was enough to unsettle her.

It still felt a little odd, having someone else's happiness outside of Felix and Fiona tied so closely to her own.

"The place just opened up, so it might still be a little messy." August said as he held the door open for her. It was another hole-in-the-wall, sandwiched between a vacant lot and one of Hollow Point's lesser bars. "I mean, I don't know. I don't work here."

Sasha's thoughts about the rather ill-advised placement of the gun store was cut short as she saw the display in front of her. She hadn't expected much, particularly since the shop had only opened up a mere week or so ago, but the wares that greeted her eyes was enough to make her jaw drop. Endless rows of pistols, rifles and hand cannons coated the walls to the barest inch, flamethrowers and rocket launchers displayed on thin metal props in the middle of the low-lit room. Baskets filled with bullet boxes and tool cleaners crowded the front desk.

The most interesting part, by a landslide, was that the majority of these looked handmade.

"What the heck _is_ this?" She gasped, peering at a little clockwork pistol -- she could just make out the inner workings through the ornate brass coating's gaps. "I mean, I always knew guns were art but never like this..." She reached out to touch, only to jump as a voice boomed through the small space. A woman popped out of the door behind the desk, holding up a shotgun to eye-level.

" _Hey!_ Hands off, you little thi-" She paused, slowly lowering her weapon and looking straight over Sasha's head. "August? Oh, shit. Welcome. Please, look around."

The mob boss smiled and put a hand on Sasha's shoulder. "Sorry, just wanted to show her the new store." He nodded at her. "Go ahead and pick something."

Sasha didn't have to be told twice. She inspected every single model in the store, careful to keep her diatribes to a minimum (or her criticisms as long as the owner was in earshot) while the two spoke. Her eavesdropping taught her the owner had inherited her mother's business just a year ago and she decided to set shop in Hollow Point not for the customer base but the slightly more agreeable weather (or lack of weather). Sasha also learned she built her very first gun when she was six years old. The con woman was definitely going to have to come back.

August kept his arm around her waist, watching with rapt attention as she compared semi-automatic and hefted each hand cannon in turn.

\--

Moody lavender stretched outside in an endless curtain. If Sasha had been a little less in touch with her surroundings she would've confused the evening for dawn -- only the faintest dusting of orange could be seen on the horizon, marking where the sun was reluctantly sinking behind the mountains. They had driven past the cave openings, far into the sandy expanse, seeking out an isolated little corner away from the world they could temporarily call their own. August had dug around in the back of his truck and propped up random items on rocks for Sasha to try her new Maliwan SMG out on -- a few bottles, a rolled-up magazine, a discarded robotic prosthetic hand ("Don't ask.") and a wooden box completed their set-up.

"So, you said you had better insults. Let's hear them." August said, cocking his pistol and aiming. The man still hadn't replaced his Jakobs Widow Maker, that weird little hodgepodge with too much power and a lackluster sight.

"I'll wait for you to miss and let that speak for itself." Sasha replied smugly. The mob boss knew better than to reward her -- all she got was a shrug.

"Okay. Actions speak louder than words, princess."

"Wait, how is princess the best insult _you_ got?"

"Can't think of worse things than being compared to puffed-up dickheads who talk a big game and can never back it up."

"... _Oh._ You're going to _regret_ that."

 _Pop._ Off went the magazine, scattering paper scraps into the wind. Another _pop_ and a bottle burst. The gift handled as light as a breeze. Her nose stung with the smoke from their pistols, a welcome replacement for body odor and burning plastic. She reached down to reload but was stopped halfway when August hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into him.

"Shit, Sash. I missed you so much..."

Her grip on the gun went slack as he pressed against her, moving lips from her neck to her mouth. The truck's hood found her back, startlingly cold, curving her spine as she leaned beneath him. "This week was fucking rough. Dickhead deals, bar rushes, just non-stop." He muttered, biting her lip, holding on for the briefest of moments. "Not trying to make you feel bad, I just..." She moved August's hands to her waist, loving the vibration of his voice on her lips. Even then...

" _Shh_."

August sighed as she mouthed his throat, kissing the stubble that clustered under his jaw. The man's normally tense body shivered and relaxed under her touch. Sasha set her pistol on the sand, nudging it carefully out of harm's way under the shelter of the vehicle with her foot. August's skin jumped as her cold hands slipped beneath his shirt, lasciviously feeling every inch of his hard stomach. Her throat grew thick as he placed two hands either side of her, grinding himself between her legs. A sudden breeze hit them both, making them shudder.

Another second and they were in the car. The cramped truck pushed them together, tucking them into one another's embrace closer and more intimate than they had been all day. In-between kisses the con woman pushed off the sweater still rancid with cigarette smoke, eager to toss aside all the little details of the day and breathe in the sweat on his skin. That earthy and heady musk that could only come from August. With a slam the wind and motors outside muffled to nothing. His face was against her neck, picking up where he left off, sucking on the crook between her jaw and shoulder with a desperation she could feel in her gut. He rocked against her, hard, hot, her own hips bucking back in turn.

His fingers moved through her locs, cradling her head with every deep kiss, an intoxicating mixture of lust and longing that pounded her heart. There was something about the way he looked down at her as he caught his breath, face shadowed in the truck's struggling light, that set her chest on fire.

"...Hey, babe." She whispered, smiling.

The man's eyes softened. Only for her.

"Hey."

The quiet confines of the truck almost revealed her then. She smothered the pain in her voice, just enough to make it come off as something else. Something husky, maybe. Wanting. Even the crinkle of his brow worried away as she unbuckled his belt and tugged him near. She wanted him. That wasn't a lie, at least. An ache between her legs, an ache in her heart. Something she would never get used to.

"Do what you want. Anything after your shit day."

He chuckled, almost a rasp. "Dress you up in a skag costume and have you call me daddy?"

Sasha scowled. "You _better_ be joking."

"I am. But you gotta work on those permissions, Sash."

"How can I be sexy when..." She swallowed as he tugged her pants down, then up, past her thighs, settling against her. "...you make stupid jokes..." Words became difficult as he hooked her legs over one shoulder, prodding gently, the cold sting of his zipper soon forgotten in favor of a deeper warmth. Sasha groaned, arched her back, not bothering to hide herself away for a moment. The way he bit his lip when pushing into her, how he seemed to struggle between gripping and petting the soft skin of her thigh as he steadied himself. It was better than anything she could think of.

He blinked at her when she tugged on his sleeve, bangs curling over his brows. "Need you close." She whispered.

August pulled away, waiting as she pushed off her shoes and kicked her pants off, wrapping her legs around his waist. Sasha sighed as he nestled against her, holding her close, breath a rhythmic lullaby against her ear.

\--

Laying on the hood of his truck with jackets bunched beneath their heads like makeshift pillows, they stared up at the sky and cooled off in the night's breeze. The day's and evening's events flickered sluggishly in her mind, a mess of sensory input and images she didn't bother getting a grasp on. Not when the best thing in the world was the way August hooked his leg around hers, how he relaxed as she traced her fingers along the muscles cording his arms. He had left both his shirt and vest on the passenger's seat. If only Fiona could see her now.

Her sister's face bloomed in-between the clouds of smoke and rows of metallic robot bodies that painted her short-term memory's canvas. She'd be disappointed in her, no doubt. Perhaps a little shocked. Sasha was, after all. Still. The last thing she expected was to be sharing a truck roof with a local mob boss after a series of impromptu dates. Sasha crushed her eyes shut, attempting to push away the guilt that always trailed after self-awareness. She wanted to enjoy herself, for once.

_'What are you doing, Sasha? This won't last forever. Putting this off is only going to make it hurt more.'_

August turned his head, pressing his nose into her hair and sighing. "Should've brought a smoke." He muttered. Sasha swallowed the lump in her throat. Nothing passed by the man -- he shifted a little, gaze on her. Quiet and waiting.

"Do you ever think of...leaving Pandora?"

The mob boss shifted again. "Leaving?"

Sasha looked at him, studying the more relaxed lines around his eyes, the rare time he didn't seemed to be focusing on any major or minor detail.

"...Of course I do." He eventually said, more a sigh, looking back up at the stars beginning to blink in above. "Won't happen, though."

"Why?"

He looked at her like she grew another head. "Because...I can't." This answer seemed to startle him, as he settled back and frowned. He scratched at his beard. "...I can't."

"Can't...?"

"Shit, Sash. Because my entire livelihood is here? My family? I can't just leave."

She couldn't tell if it was bitterness or yearning that prompted her reply. "That's quite an imagination you got."

August slowly propped himself up on one elbow, peering down at her with an expression she couldn't quite pin down. Maybe he was surprised at her tone. Or it could be his usual suspicion. She avoided his gaze. She should've kept it to herself, damn it. She didn't want to ruin the night. The fact of the matter, though, was that she had put off connecting with reality for far too long. It was starting to bite her square in the ass.

"What do _you_ want, Sash?" He whispered.

As honest as she could. "We...deserve better."

He ran a hand along his goatee, fingers lingering just beneath his lips. She settled closer to him, just a little, even as she felt the gulf spreading between them. She tried to focus on the breeze sifting around them, the cold truck's metal beginning to warm from their body heat. Anything.

"...I've been here all my life." August murmured. "All my life. Only been off-planet twice and both were for business deals. You don't even question it after a while. I've always been so busy, so stressed out, I just...don't have a lot of time to think about it. Or, shit. I don't know. Maybe I do and I just _don't_. Because it doesn't feel possible. Maybe all of the above."

"Can't be what you can't see." Sasha said against his chest. He chuckled.

"You come up with that?"

She shook her head. "Nah."

"...You know, we could leave."

Her blood ran cold. _'_ _This won't last forever.'_

"Things are actually looking up. We could take it a step further." His tone grew from reticent to contemplative, even curious. "Chunhua's deal isn't the only thing that's gone right lately. We've been getting more members recently. The Shivs have finally backed off. My boss...she hasn't been breathing down my neck nearly as often lately. I'm always on the hunt for a better deal. If I could seal something more lucrative, I could take some of that money and..."

His voice grew thoughtful as he moved his arm around her waist, stroking her hip. "...we could think about getting out of here someday."

The clouds had all but dissolved into nothing, both moons lighting up the land around them in cold, gentle blues.

"Babe...?" He whispered, reaching down to touch her face.

The stars gazed down on the pair below.

"Why are you crying?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, another two weeks without another update. Been taking on more work than usual, but to any and all people still reading my little fic: you can bet your ass I'll be finishing this! 
> 
> I'm too deep in this ship to quit _now._


	15. Clutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expecting the unexpected is easier said than done.

Every little piece completes a bigger part of the picture.

Felix found this out the hard way.

The Vault Key was almost finished, every brushstroke and curve and etch fooling the eye into believing the weak stone was something much more. Felix had pored over endless sketches and video caches documenting the strange Traveler technology, in spite of the knowledge that the average buyer wouldn't have the eye for minor mistakes. Even then, it wasn't worth the risk that their douchebag-to-be could have casually browsed the backwater archives of some obscure collector during their lunch break. The glowing streaks were by far the most difficult to install, requiring a strong circuitry bunched beneath clouded glass to look natural. As natural as an inherently alien piece of technology could look, anyway.

The man idly rubbed his arm across his forehead. Even with his eyes scrutinizing and peeling apart every imperfection his mind wouldn't stop wandering. With a rough sigh he gave in, pushing away from his work and reaching for his rag. He rubbed paint from his fingers, closing his eyes and trying to figure out where he went wrong.

_The day had been deceptively cooperative. Pandora's single season would occasionally, for whatever reason, dip into something chillier outside the morning, offering countless people unexpected reprieve from heat stroke and windburns. The sun didn't beat down on his neck quite so hard, the elusive breeze more constant than it would ever be during the middle of the day. The rakks were more active, wheeling and dancing in the air for purposes other than fighting or scavenging. Even Sasha, more distant from him than was her wont these past few weeks, was in a chipper mood while they were out on delivery._

_Better weather had put his patrons in a more agreeable mood, choosing for once not to argue with him about his steep prices and accepting his work with rare good grace. The caravan needed a tune-up before they were to head back to Hollow Point, a thankfully meager spot on their day. His daughter bobbed her leg to the beat of a radio tune while she worked beneath the van, quieter now that her sister was off scouting._

_Felix peered down at her, resisting the urge to lean into the shade of the van and ruin his pants._

_"I appreciate you doing this, Sasha."_

_"Yeah." She answered, chewing on her lip as she pulled a rock out from between the wires. A flick of her hand sent it clattering out into the sun. "No big deal. Just needs a touch-up."_

_"I mean the con."_

_He frowned as she continued to work, not answering or nodding or making any indication she heard him. With an inward sigh he reached over and took the wrench from her hand, pulling it out from beneath the car._

_The shadow of the truck couldn't quite hide his daughter's frown. Wiping her forehead she pushed back into the sunlight, raising her eyebrows -- a sign she wasn't happy being interrupted, but she'd let him continue._

_"How is the con going?"_

_"Fine?"_

_**"Sasha."** _

_She sat up and stretched her legs, wincing as the bright sun lit up her face. "Don't pull that tone with me. I said it's fine. What else do you need to know?"_

_"How you're **doing** , Sasha." It was hard to keep the hurt out of his voice. "I haven't heard so much as an update or a mere detail since you first dressed up for the con." She waved a hand as she went back inside to change -- it was a few moments later he realized she had gestured to Fiona, still a speck in the distance but closing in rapidly. Felix tried to keep his face straight. This was very unlike her. Even during her lesser moods, Sasha was often honest about what was bothering her, just as quick to snark about a bad impromptu mark or jacked-up price as she was to push her family away for some alone time. He didn't want to imagine what she could be going through without his knowledge. While questioning Fiona was a possible option, he was hesitant to drive a distrustful wedge between their tiny family._

_The fear won. He showed up at the Purple Skag that very evening, careful to remain deep in the crowd of thirsty people as Sasha began her night shift. The windows were musty, but noticeably clearer than when he first bought a shot months prior. No doubt his daughter's doing. Shuffling carefully as to seem a passerby, he glanced in every now and again, eager for any details that could broaden the meager picture of the con at large._

_The man was just as he remembered, stone-faced and stiff-shouldered, eyes always narrowing to slits at some possible offense. He was leaning outside the door, occasionally nodding and muttering to the massive bouncer Felix always saw whenever he passed by. Customers were friendly and deferential in turns. Whether he was waiting for a delivery or simply enjoying the night air, Felix wasn't sure. The con man didn't know too much about August -- he dressed like a bandit and composed himself like a manager, contradictory enough to warrant caution. It was easy to tell who had power, however small in the Pandoran scheme of things, and who didn't. It's why he pegged him as a mark from the start._

_Felix waved away a drunk as he organized his thoughts. Was that the problem? His daughter always had a keen distaste for those with power. From creating an anti-Hyperion radio station to joining a gang only to later leave it, she was too aware of the corrupting nature of power and how it affected everyone down the food chain. Even a small business in the heart of a run-down cave town was more than what the majority of the local population had. One that ran off the active depression and escapism of the town? Practically irreplaceable. Just what power needs._

_The fact he was part of a gang was par for the course._

_His daughter moved expertly in-between lowered heads and dim purple light, cleaning and serving and talking in equal measures. The man allowed himself a tinge of pride -- she had always been flexible, adapting readily to each situation as if it were nothing more than a game. Even as a little girl she was a quick-thinker. She would call out to August, occasionally, otherwise not interacting with him much as she tended to the client base._

_When the rush slowed down and Sasha walked up to him for a breather outside, though...their demeanor changed._

_August's cold gaze turned into something else, something warmer, a smile working its way around his mouth and making him look years younger. His daughter's face crinkled in a laugh, shaking her head at some comment he made and opening her mouth in a retort. The relaxed glances of the surrounding clientele suggested something familiar about this interaction. Something..._

_Sasha laughed and squirmed as August pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek._

_**Oh.** _

With a jerk he sat up again. He had overworked himself, like usual, to the point of dozing off unexpectedly. He glanced at the clock. Sasha would be off her shift right around now.

It wasn't an idea he was proud of. He trusted his daughter. Implicitly. Few people had the strength of character and mental nerve to pull off a con as complex and sensitive as the one they had been planning for. Both Fiona and Sasha were extraordinary women, destined for something far greater than Pandora's dusty confines.

He just...couldn't shake the feeling that she had gotten in over her head.

It wasn't merely parental overprotectiveness, though that no doubt played a part in the gnawing in his gut. Shrugging on a coat and pulling on a pair of shades, he made his way through the crooked, choking alleyways of downtown Hollow Point. A few stragglers lingered outside the Purple Skag, rocking and muttering to themselves as regulars often did. The bouncer was carrying one over his shoulder, feet kicking weakly in the air. Felix, however, only had eyes for one.

Nobody cultivated a successful business without looking over their shoulder. He would have to completely overhaul his demeanor, crafting a new persona like he did the Vault Key sitting pretty in the caravan's safe. Hailing a cab he shadowed the owner of the Purple Skag once he got into his truck, making sure his instructions to the driver were just vague enough as to not seem obvious. A single slip-up and the con would be jeopardized.

The man's destination was closer than he expected, somewhere in the thick of the less congested Old Grove. Felix stepped out a block away, not bothering to haggle the price with the driver -- the man had clearly sensed his urgency and upped his price, sneaky little worm. August's eyes landed directly on him as he stepped out of his truck across the street, a vivid blue even in the bad light. Felix was careful not to avoid his gaze or look at him head-on -- one of the oldest and most neglected rules in a con artist's handbook was trying too hard. The art of deception always relied on fooling someone right in front of them, if one were to ever swipe something from under their nose without their knowing.

One heartbeat, two. A cat yowls in the distance. The man loses interest, rummaging for something in his pocket before shutting the truck door and heading up the steps to a medium-sized complex. Felix allowed himself a shiver of relief.

Voices clamor heavy and insistent behind the shuttered window frames. He waits for August to go inside, glances around for any posted sentries or security cameras as he lights a cigarette and leans against a lamppost. A gang member occasionally walks back and forth past the front entrance, looking almost bored. It would be an ordeal sneaking in close. He would have to study the pattern of the guards and stay within the shadows. Come up with a fabrication should he get caught.

Turns out he wouldn't have to.

A woman stepped out into the lamp's glow, the faint rasp of her voice barely audible over the clamor behind her. August's silhouette could just be made in the door's square light, gesturing to her. Felix had to summon every last ounce of composure he had garnered over the sixty-two years of his life not to drop his cigarette and reveal himself.

...It couldn't be.

Her head turns, just far enough for him to make out her pale cheeks, the proud curve of her nose.

_Vallory._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, the past two weeks have been pretty rough. Feels good to get back into writing again. 
> 
> We're nearing the end-game here...


	16. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock is ticking. Sasha readies herself for the endgame, wringing out every inch of the false life that had become a dream right before her eyes.

Lidia Strauss. A savvy businesswoman who snatched any opportunity she saw. She struggled to make ends meet sometimes, like most down and out Pandorans with no long-term gang connections, but she recently happened to get lucky when she came across a Vault Key on Eden 6. Originally she came from Eden 5, having grown up there most of her life after her mother was killed in a bandit raid. She liked neo-jazz and was allergic to peanuts.

Sasha frowned as she rubbed down glasses. Maybe that'd be too much information.

August had been in the back room most of the day, calling past clients and settling minor deals that had started to pile up over the week. It wasn't ideal, what with their increasing influx of business, but he still wasn't interested in hiring more people. The front counter had thus been hers to keep an eye out on, shaking drinks and sweeping up dust until the cave air began to get extra chilly. She didn't exactly mind -- working as a bartender had been relatively easy (with some credit to Tector), though she'd be lying if she said she didn't get a little nervous energy building up now and again. Damn if she didn't sometimes miss that horrible outland sun.

Maybe Lidia Strauss was a little on the cocky side. No, casually confident. August didn't want to deal with spineless grunts, but he also wasn't keen on people who oozed arrogance. Got enough of that from the Hyperion connections he occasionally dealt with through his boss. She cranked up the radio. She couldn't drink on shift ( _too_ much, anyway) and needed something, _anything_ , to drown out the doubt welling up in her chest. José groaned and held his head as Loose Cannon blared loud enough to rattle the windowframes. He had been in the bar since the afternoon, alternating between drinking and snoozing on the far counter.

"Girlie, you wanna turn that down? My 'ead is fit to split!" He complained with bleary eyes. Sasha gestured at her ears with an exaggerated shrug, swinging her hips as she dragged a rag across the counter and plucked two shot glasses from a now-empty table. Loose Cannon was a decent enough garage rock band, even if their drums _were_ a bizarre mess and they hardly sang about more than getting smashed at parties and driving the latest four-wheeler. At the moment, though, they were perfect.

_Smash the eyes, blacken the rim_

_Can you figure out him?_

_Can you even see him?_

_Let's toss our heads out the window, window, window_

_And devour the air_

_It's pretty damn cold_

_Out there, there, there_

_Out there_

_Out there_

_Out there_

_It's pretty damn cold out there_

She tossed her hair in a headbang and kicked over a stool for shits and giggles. That nervous energy was starting to loosen up like a bad knot. She almost didn't notice a calloused hand squeezing her hip.

"Come on, Sash. I can hear it all the way upstairs."

She stiffened in embarrassment. Avoiding José's smug smile she reached over and turned down the knob. Loose Cannon's hectic guitars dwindled down to a thin whine. A disappointed, "Aww!" came from somewhere outside the front door. At least Tector was on her side.

August pressed his hand to her hip again when she returned and pulled a glass off the shelf to shine. "Hey."

She offered him a quick smile. "Sorry, summer boy." The bar suddenly felt very quiet. Even the faint squeaking of her rag seemed booming. He crossed his arms and lowered himself a little to look at her on eye level. Sasha pressed her lips together so she wouldn't laugh, scrubbing the glass to a glimmering sheen and shoving it back on the shelf with its peers.

"Not a fan of Loose Cannon or something?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, then opened her mouth slightly in realization. "Oh. No. Well. They're all right."

He nodded slightly, still in a ridiculous half-crouch. She bit her tongue, reaching for another glass. "On your period?"

Sasha scoffed. "Oh, _real_ original."

He shrugged. "I've heard stories. It sucks." The man rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in thought. "Like a kraggon taking a shit in your uterus."

She couldn't help it. She laughed, trying to stuff the guilty evidence into the crook of her elbow and almost dropping the glass in the process. He grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist, yanking her close. She felt his mouth on the back of her neck, warm and lovely. The con woman pretended to fight him off, pushing at his face as he tried to kiss her collar. He kissed her knuckles instead.

"Yo, José!" August called out over her shoulder. The man raised his head from his arms. "Take a hike."

The mob boss could scout potential customer activity like a blood scent on the wind. He never turned down a deal if he could help it, but it couldn't be clearer they'd have another few hours before the night started picking up. Tector shooed José out and they were alone behind the counter, bathed in the Purple Skag's quintessential violet glow. If she didn't feel like puking up that bottle of rum she had downed during her lunch break she'd consider it romantic. August's hoodie was worn and faded, hair barely spiked and curling around his ears from his day off from customer service.

"So. What's up?" He said, leaning back against the counter with two arms around her waist. Sasha wrapped her arms around his neck, pursing her lips as she thought of the best answer to give him.

"Hey. Hey, don't do that." He said, brows furrowed, taking her chin and gently turning her to face him. "Just tell me the truth."

She sighed. He moved his hands to run his fingers through her locs, careful not to dislodge her headband. "I'll never get over how well you read people." Sasha muttered, poking at his shirt's logo.

"Flattery won't get you far with me, Sash." He responded mildly, rubbing her scalp. "Though I won't complain, either." The con woman closed her eyes, enjoying his ministrations and letting her fabricated character form a picture in her mind. She looked a little too much like her mother. Probably shouldn't have named her after her.

"I have a...friend." August raised his eyebrows, not speaking. Sasha reached up under his coat to stroke his lower back. At least the nervousness wasn't feigned. He leaned into her touch, gaze softening. "She found something pretty rare the other day." She continued, not quite ready to reveal the big twist. "Something that could fetch a high price pretty much anywhere. She's looking for someone to sell it to. I was going to bring it up later, but..."

August narrowed his eyes, immediately going into business mode. "Who's this friend?"

"Lidia." She paused. "...Strauss."

"Why haven't I heard about her before?"

"We only met recently. Few months back during a run. We hit it off, though. She's a wicked good shot."

"Yeah?"

"Come _on_ , don't give me that. You don't tell me everything that goes on with _your_ boss and goons." The con woman grumbled.

"Fair enough..." He replied. His tone, however, said otherwise. Sasha was ready to shrug, catching herself just in time -- she couldn't exactly look _casual_ after her agitated behavior all day. It was time to ride this wave out. At least, she thought that's how the saying went.

"What'd she find?" He pressed.

"A Vault Key."

Her stomach clutched as his jaw dropped. "...You're _shitting_ me." He breathed.

Sasha shook her head. "She even showed me. I mean, through a holo-vid, but still." August rubbed his goatee, looking at her like she just grew another leg. He didn't say anything else.

"I'm starting to think you don't trust me." Sasha said with a frown, leaning back to get a better look at his expression. August ran fingers through his hair, eyes flicking to the counter, to the glasses on the shelf. He was clearly trying to figure out what to do with information that would make just about anyone do a backflip onto the moon.

"No, that's not...I mean, you're sure? You're sure it's real?" He scowled at Sasha's impatient huff. "Hey, this is my _business_ we're talking about. I can't just drop everything on my schedule for some mythical piece of alien tech I don't even know is legit. I just got off the phone with a guy who's convinced that a delayed shipment of screws will start an all-out war. Twenty goddamn minutes of reassuring this overpaid clown that nobody goes to war over screws. I don't have time for bullshit." The con woman's chest flared. Her demeanor cracked.

"All right. Fine. I was trying to help you out, but clearly I'm at my best when wiping down counters and telling shitbag customers to stop leaving their pants on the floor." Sasha pushed back from the counter and walked around the side. "I'll be sure to keep my generosity to myself next time."

"Oh my god." She heard August moan. "We're not doing _this_."

"What, fighting?" She shot back from across the room. "'Cause that's what it looks like. Like, _exactly_."

"Sash."

"Forget it."

"Sash!"

"I've looked after your ass when you had bullets whizzing at your head and helped you with multiple deals when you couldn't count on anyone else to watch your back. You remember what happened with Tassle. With _Nucleus_." She snapped as she grabbed a discarded hat and flung it across the counter at the clothes bin. It bounced off the wall. "Guess the benefit of the doubt is more _expensive_ than I thought." She tossed the cleaning rag across her shoulder and started shoving chairs beneath tables. Tector peered nervously through the window. August hopped over the counter out of the corner of her eye.

She had no right to be angry. She was playing the guy like a fiddle. _Had_ been. Setting him up for a fall he spent countless hours each day trying to prevent from happening. This decent guy, _far_ more decent than a crime lord had any right to be, rightfully checking her on facts so he didn't end up getting in trouble with a boss she had long since learned was volatile at the best of times. Yet here she was, stomach burning and pride aching at his doubt.

"...All right." Sasha heard him murmur behind her. "Fine. Let's meet with her."

Sasha tried to keep her voice level. "I get it. Doing deals with people you don't know is a pain in the ass..."

"No, maintaining a bar full-time, keeping minor gangs in check _and_ running supply deals on the side is a pain in the ass. Dealing with a boss that breathes down your neck twenty-four seven is a pain in the ass. That guy and his precious screw war is a pain in the ass." She looked at him, right as he swallowed and rubbed his hair in a rare anxious display. "You've...always been the opposite of that."

Sasha deflated.

A few people walked past the window, talking raoucously amongst themselves and vanishing into the night. They stood by the empty table together, hesitant and unsure. Sad Son filtered through the room. It was 'A Lonely Daughter', one of his more soothing tracks about a young woman who spent most of her life on a moving train.

_Lonely daughter, may you wander_

_They had never thought to keep you near_

Sasha looked up at August with a small smile. "Didn't know you had a mood radio."

He snorted lightly. He was quiet for another moment. Music filled the Skag with a disarming tempo, harmonicas working their way past strings and Sad Son's signature moody warble.

"...Sorry." August's blue eyes were transfixed on the radio, posture sagging a little in his surrender.

Sasha shook her head and leaned against the table next to him. Her hand reached up to her goggles, stroking them gently. "No, uh...I was being a little rude." She looked over the bar. Its wooden floors and crooked chairs, the lights dangling from the rafters. She was going to miss this place. ...His place. "Really rude."

With a jerk she looked up as the man took her hand, tugging it gently. "Come on." He smiled, that crooked little smirk that made her heart swell, swaying invitingly. "This song's not too bad." It took her another second for her to realize he was inviting her to dance.

"Oh my god. You're _corny?_ " She gasped, walking over to where he stood in the middle of the room.

"Only on Tuesdays." He responded with a grin.

"It's Wednesday."

"No, it's not."

"Can't fool you."

August spun her in a delicate circle. Sasha grinned up at him as she twisted in place. Sad Son crooned valiantly through the radio's static. "A waltz, too?"

He shrugged at that, face shadowed from where his back faced the lights. "No idea. Just go with it."

_Lonely daughter, take a gander_

_I had never called you dear_

"Since when did you just go with it?" She teased, tossing her head and leaning back in his grasp. Nervous energy didn't stand a chance.

"Since now, christ." He said with a roll of his eyes, swaying with her. The floorboards creaked off-beat. "You're merciless today."

His throat bobbed at her smile. Purple and pink and with messy hair he was the most lovely thing she'd ever seen. Their dancing became less hurried, then, something between relaxed and eager. Instead of pulling away they came together close, breathing in deeply and letting any lingering tension melt away in their body heat. August kissed her hair. She kissed his chin, savored the tickle of his beard. They gripped one another, torn between doting affection and mounting lust.

Lust won out. August moved hands under her shirt, feeling her greedily, heedless of the lights blinking through the window. Sasha sat on the table, pressing face against his throat and adoring the flush of his skin. It wasn't long before his hands found the waist of her jeans, tugging at each button in succession.

"Upstairs." She breathed as he stroked between her legs. "Anyone could just walk in."

He blew out a sigh into the crook of her neck. "Aw, who cares. It's just Tector."

"Oh my god. _Upstairs_."

He snickered, grabbing her and hefting her up. Sasha laughed and held onto his shoulders as he carried her to the second floor. She didn't come up there often, not when he jealously guarded his (apparently very messy) workspace. Not this time -- he kicked open the door and pushed her up against the wall inside, kicking it back closed to return where he left off. 'A Lonely Daughter' continued below, barely sifting through the floorboards.

_Lonely daughter, stop then start on yonder_

_You had never been one for fear_

August huffed as he tried not to step on what sounded like loose paper and boxes, shoving them out of the way with a flick of his leg. "Don't want to think about this _shit_ right now..." He growled against her collar. "Need you." Sasha pressed against the wall for leverage as he pulled her pants up her thighs, further steadying her with his hips.

Tonight wouldn't be the night she thought further on Lidia Strauss or the fake Vault Key, nor the idea of a new planet crunching under the soles of her shoes. All she would think about was August. How he felt inside her, the way his hands ground a pattern in her thighs, the chafing of her back against the wall with every thrust. How the way he moaned her name was more incredible than any song she'd ever heard.

_I hope someday, one way away_

_This train will take you far from here_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was struggling on and off with these chapters for a few reasons -- decided to go back and do a little rewriting and, I gotta say, I'm glad I did.
> 
> One of the biggest and most difficult aspects of _any_ form of art is knowing when to push through and knowing when to start over. Shit, that could even be a metaphor for Sasha and August. 
> 
> :'D


	17. Slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Sasha's been working toward for years...and the day she's been dreading the most.

"Oh, _gross_. Are you kidding...oh, I think I'm going to be sick."

Sasha sighed and leaned against the wall.

"It's a port-a-potty, August. Not a death sentence."

"Easy for _you_ to say. You're not in here seeing this shit."

"Like, literal shit or-"

" _Worse_ , Sash! _Way_ worse!"

She wouldn't lie (even though she was really, _really_ good at it): this place was a fucking disaster. August had wanted to be as discreet as possible, paranoid to a fault as he ever was, but even _he_ was having second-thoughts about choosing one of the creepiest locations on Pandora to hold the meeting with Vasquez. It wasn't _technically_ an exhibition, but she wasn't _technically_ throwing up right now, either.

August first heard about the place through a business partner of an acquaintance of an employee of an acquaintance of somebody who once owed him money (Sasha had _no_ idea how he kept track of it all). What used to be a thriving town with its very own spring was laid to waste a year or two ago and barely got stitched back together by a one-man show, the perfect place to meet with Hyperion without anybody finding out. She took his word for it, anyway, and focused more on enjoying the last day with a man that, somehow, like a meteor, crashed into her life and left a crater she wasn't sure she could ever fill. Sasha fixed him a quick lunch of eggs and skrakk toast, then took him upstairs for some quick sex, all an hour before they had to meet with 'Lidia Strauss'.

He'd been pleasantly surprised, both times, and told her she was a sweetheart. If he found her clinginess a little odd, he had the decency not to mention it.

"You know, I was kind of surprised when your friend grabbed my hand like that." August muttered as he left the bathroom from hell and walked with her to the main room, pointedly ignoring the dead bodies tacked to the hallway walls.

"Yeah." Sasha put on a slightly embarrassed smile. "She's...a _little_ possessive."

"That's funny..." He raised his eyebrows. "...considering she _stole_ it in the first place."

"It's a Vault Key, August." Sasha mimicked his expression, down to that low-lidded affect he always did to reach peak unimpressed-ness. "You wouldn't be just a _teensy_ bit protective over a find like that?"

"This isn't a charity, Sash. This is a _partnership_ , which means I don't like being treated like a kid trying to sneak cookies from the cookie jar." He countered...only to surrender the argument with a little grace, much to her surprise. "...Though eridium poisoning _does_ sound pretty shitty. Guess I shouldn't be so quick to poke at alien tech, huh?"

Sasha snorted. The guy had personal boundaries ten miles wide. All things considered, his reaction had been pretty mild (especially after he'd blown a guy's head off point blank not ten minutes earlier). He was starting to itch a _lot_ more in this place, though, and it might be time to come up with a few jokes to lighten his mood.

The owner of the museum (Oasis, which probably needed a name change at this point) is a man Sasha could only describe as a talking elbow scab with a _really_ bad sense of humor (and a personal odor that would put even Hollow Point's music venues to shame). There was a word for his kind out in the uninhabited chunks of flatland – dust zombies – and she hoped she’d never find out what got him into such a miserable state. The guy was friendly enough, sure, but _completely_ bonkers. Not five seconds passed between pulling up in August's truck and walking inside and they were greeted by no less than _three_ dead bodies in various poses, outfits and...loudspeakers. In their chests.

A museum of corpses for her last-ever con. Because of _course_.

"Oh, you're just in _time!_ " Shade had crowed, rubbing peeling hands together and looking between them (and off to the left, thanks to his lazy eye). "I just got things set up. You two can share your first impressions with me! Come now, don't be shy-" He'd slapped them both on the shoulder, making her skin crawl and August scowl with an expression she now knew was associated with very, _very_ violent thoughts. Sasha had to nudge his arm to keep him from pulling out his pistol and turning the poor guy into a dust _corpse_.

It might be a mercy, really. While they both waited for their overpaid goon to show up at a table in the middle of the main room (only a little stained with blood) Shade preoccupied himself with sprucing up...which apparently entailed sticking tacks in the corners of the corpses' mouths to make them look more 'sunny'.

”I’m thinking...one _too_ many encounters with heatstroke.” Sasha muttered out of the side of her mouth when Shade stopped messing with the still-fresh body to fuss over, of _all_ things, a speck of dirt on the floor. Right below the head in the jar decorating the one other table in the room. Could a place with only three walls be called that? "Maybe got shot in the head and kept the bullet in his brain to keep him company?"

”I’m thinking his entire family got ambushed by bandits, picked clean by skrakks and he was left to navigate a harsh wasteland for the rest of his days.” August muttered back, idly swatting at a fly. Sasha slowly arched an eyebrow down at him.

”You know...sometimes I forget how jolly you are.”

The mob boss snorted, still not taking his eyes off the horizon. He hadn't been in the best of moods all the while, what with Vasquez being late (and that mystery encounter in the Oasis port-a-potty), so she considered that little sound a victory and returned to scanning the desert for their guest of honor. They were over an hour late, which either meant they were screwing with them (very possible) or dead (extremely possible). Sasha looked right back down when the man placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing the exposed skin with his thumb.

"Hey. Before they get here, you get a funny feeling about any of this...doesn't matter _what_ it is...and we're done. Okay?" His gaze finally broke away from the sands and flicked up to her, a terse blue. "I mean it."

She couldn't imagine _much_ getting in the way between her and her one-way ticket to freedom, aside from an actual mob bursting out of nowhere and razing what's left of Oasis to the ground, but that knowledge didn't stop her chest from growing warm at the trust he was giving her on something so monumental. Sasha put a hand over his, squeezing the scarred knuckles and giving him a smile.

"...Sure thing, babe."

She gave his knuckles a quick kiss, because there was no reason _not_ to, and August's gaze lost some of its sharp edge. He started to lean up, to kiss her or maybe pull her into his lap, she wasn't sure. She wouldn't find out, though, because an engine roar sounded off not a second later. They both turned to see a big, fat dust cloud announcing the arrival of their suckers-to-be. Her stomach pitched at the sight of _two_ assholes exiting a car that's seen better days and making their way over to Shade's hell away from hell.

"...Who the _hell_ are they." August growled, all angles and bitter coffee again. "Unless Vasquez used last month's paystub to clone two dickhead versions of himself."

Sasha promptly stepped off to the side and clicked on her earpiece. Fiona and Felix needed to hear about this.

"There're two guys here, but _neither_ of them are Vasquez..."

" _He may have sent some lackeys_." Felix mused back over the line. " _Didn't want to get his hands dirty_."

Sasha turned back around and wrinkled her nose. Hyperion were even worse in-person. One's gangly and tall and the other's short and squat, like they walked right out of a classic cartoon with barely any dignity to spare. The taller one _could_ be cute, if he had any idea how to dress himself, and Sasha allowed herself a few indulgent seconds to look August over. Both to seem deferential to the mob boss _and_ to appreciate his rugged good looks.

"What happened? You get stuck in traffic?" August asked, standing up smoothly. "You Hyperion guys are usually so punctual. Gettin' ten million together can't be _too_ much trouble for you." His accent was coming through a little thicker, as it always did alongside his careful temper, forcing Sasha to resist a smile as the two approached. "Figured you had that kind of scratch as walkaround money."

"Well, we thought you'd want to get here a little early." The apparent leader of the two began, with the smug affect she knew and _loved_ from that miserable space station. "See the sights."

Sasha winced and glanced sideways at her partner. Uh-oh.

" _Early?_ " August repeated, eyes blown wide, like he'd been slapped. "You think I _like_ being here? You think this is _fun?_ Have you seen the bathroom yet?" Shade, who had been watching from the sidelines, grinned behind him. August then crushed his eyes shut and leaned his face to the ceiling, like he was trying to make his soul leave his body. " _Every minute in this horror factory is like an hour_."

"Well, I'll leave you to your business things, then!" Shade chirped, shuffling off to no doubt do more morbid interior decorating.

"So, is, uh...Vasquez comin'?" August asked, eyes flicking back and forth as he assessed the picture before him.

"Hugo couldn't make it. He's sick." The Hyperion representative responded, with a shrug. The smaller one took that as a cue to pipe up.

"Yeah, he ate some bad stuff...or something. I dunno. He's been camped out in the executive washroom since lunchtime." His partner nodded and put on a knowing smile.

"He's got trains leaving both ends of the station, if you know what I mean-"

"Eck, okay, _okay_ , I got the picture, well done." August groaned with a shake of his head. "Well. I figure as long as you got the money, one Hyperion bootlicker's as good as another." Sasha (also grimacing at their riveting tale of surprise diarrhea), inwardly thanked her luck. August _hated_ doing deals with people he didn't know. Just getting him to meet with her sister had been an ordeal in of itself. He must be pretty damn eager to see the cash in that briefcase. Then again, weren't they all?

With a barely visible shudder August wrangled himself back together and asked for the pair's names. Whatever paint the tall one is huffing must be working _great_ , because without missing a beat he brushed off the man's attempts at putting them on even ground and introduced himself as ' _ten million dollars, for all you should care_ '. The mob boss, characteristically, snapped.

"Okay, okay. I don't know what the hell you two _think_ you're doing, but this is _not_ how I operate." He hissed, all semblance of amicability gone. "I expected Vasquez...and I got _you_."

"Yeah!" Sasha offered, figuring it's about time she started playing her part as August's tiny hype-(wo)man. Maybe she _was_ scamming the living daylights out of them, but who did these pricks think they _were?_

"So let's all get friendly real _fast_. I mean, I'm _trying_. Aren't I trying, huh? Aren't I trying?" He looked to her with an expression bordering on frantic, and Sasha wasn't faking one second when she tossed a glare at the two goons gaping across the table at them.

"Oh, you're trying!"

"So let's try _again_." August decided, putting on another grin. It was a little terrifying. "My name's August. What's _yours?_ "

Nothing like a little classic Pandoran posturing to put people in their place. It worked like a charm. They find out the man's name is Rhys ("...Reeze?" August squinted), the other's name is apparently unimportant, and they _all_ just spent five minutes longer in this fuckhole than they had to. God, Hyperion _sucked_. Just when she thought the meeting couldn't get any worse she got a better look at Rhys' right eye.

“Oh, _damn it_." She took another step back and hissed into her earpiece. "One of them has an ECHO-eye implant. If he scans the key…he’ll know it’s a _fake_.” She kept her lips as stiff as possible, just in case the Hyperion stooges took an elective on lip-reading or something. "They're still talking, but there's no way they're _not_ going to scan it. Unless they're complete morons."

" _Felix, we need to disable it-_ " Sasha heard Fiona say, just before the feed cut off. Good. At least they were already on the same page, because this was a pretty _huge_ wrench in their plans. Sasha settled back onto the table and put on her game face. She was almost at the end. Time to hold out.

It proceeded to be a meeting for the recordbooks. In the _worst_ way. Chunhua had been straight to the point, if kind of rude for someone even shorter than Sasha was. Nucleus may have been an actual cannibal that tried to screw them over, but at least she was just garden-variety shitty. These guys...no, they were a _hundred_ times worse. Seriously, who coordinated pinstripes with _snakeskin?_ She tried to figure out what could have possibly possessed this guy to look in the mirror, consider all of this a-okay, then tuck his tie into his shirt for good measure. It’d be a funny conversation to have with August once this was all over. Knowing him, though, he'd be way more interested in the guy's robotic arm.

' _...Except I’m not going to have that chat with August. I’m going to nod and smile once the deal's over, we’re both gonna grab the money and I'm going to run off with it when his back's turned. Fi, Felix and I will be off this planet within the hour. I'll be bringing a broken heart with me, but that's nothing an entire rest-of-my-lifetime away from Pandora can't fix, right?_ ' Her heart sunk all the way down to her shoes. ‘ _…Right_.’

She shook herself and placed her mind firmly back in the gross meeting location. August was in the middle of growling a thinly-veiled threat at the two – and her best scowl was still in place, thankfully – but now an entirely different course of thought made its way through her head. Sasha would never describe herself as anxious (not like the bespectacled dork to her right without a chair), but sometimes her brain would get started on something and she'd be entirely unable to stop it unless she had a distraction. A project spread out on the caravan table, her sister firing off supporting commentary to the latest radio drama, the works. Both of which were _not_ in the cards, leaving her in the sorry position of dwelling on life without the mob boss she'd been stupid enough to fall for.

Her brain soaks in the sight of the mob boss beginning the haggle and proceeds to play a spiteful recording of all their good times, instead of the back-up plan she _should_ be conjuring up if this already shaky meeting goes south. She'd shut her eyes, but that wouldn't help at all (and would make her look incredibly weird in front of Vasquez's lackeys). August...he was going to _hate_ her for this. Of course he would. The only thing higher on his crosshairs than Vault Hunters and dine-and-ditchers were _liars_. Didn't matter who it was from or what it was about. All their warm, fuzzy memories strolling through crowded marketplaces, covering each other under hails of gunfire, riding out in the sands in his truck...they might as well have never _happened_.

The worst memory, though, by a landslide...was August seeing her cry on the hood of his car. That day where they'd done their usual round of shooting bottles somewhere far away from Hollow Point, just the two of them under a lavender sunset. She'd never forgotten the way he'd thumbed away the tears on her face, the worry lines in his forehead replaced by confusion. The mob boss had never seen her cry before, not when she had to muscle through a crappy day on the clock after a row with Felix, not even when she got _shot_ , and the guy had looked...totally at a _loss_. He never made fun of her for it, though. Didn’t even crack a joke. The thing about August was that, for all his sharp edges, there was something softer underneath, tucked away for rare occasions.

Rare occasions like her.

Her earpiece pinged again. Sasha held up another finger for August (who cocked an irritated eyebrow her way, but didn't protest), then scooted off the chair and pretended to dilly-dally with something important in the far not-corner.

" _Sasha._ " Felix started, calm yet tense. " _On my signal, you need to get the case over to the vent behind you. I have an EMP device that should scramble his tech and get us in the clear again._."

"How the _hell_ do I do that?" She gasped, then hastily straightened her back when Four-Eyes gave her a funny look.

" _I don't know. Figure it out._ "

Right. Of course. Their good ol' family motto, because there was literally no other turn-of-phrase three con artists living on scraps, motor oil and wits could have. Fiona was going to be sneaking through the ventilation shaft to give Rhys' ECHO-eye a nice little shake, which was risky _enough_ in a place falling apart at the seams, but it all boiled down to getting the goods close enough for the EMP to work its magic. Sasha turned back to the meeting, determined not to let an ounce of tension show on her face. The case was open now, purple glow dancing across everyone's faces.

"It's state-of-the-art alien crap." August was saying with a shrug. "I'd use it _myself_ , but, you know. The monsters and all."

"It's goddamn gorgeous." Rhys sighed, giving the Vault Key bedroom eyes. Sasha almost laughed. Felix would be glad to know even Hyperion douchebags with no taste were impressed with his handiwork.

August offered the goon a rare smile at that and a sudden spike of panic cut through her. Oh, what was she going to _do?_ She could always say she needed to 'double-check' the case. She _has_ been chatting on her earpiece on-and-off, this entire time...maybe Lidia was paranoid about her reputation? She grabbed August's hand when he tried to touch it, after all. But what if August called her bluff? It's not like it would be the first time. Far from the first time, actually. Sasha mentally _begs_ Felix and Fiona to hurry the hell up. Not even to get her hands on more cash than she's ever seen in her life, no. Just for this day to finally, _finally_ be over.

"What was that?" August snapped, suddenly turning around at a muffled banging behind them. Sasha shrugged.

"I didn't hear anything."

Of course she did. Fiona was probably running into something or another in this creepy place. ...Then it hit her. Shade _might_ just decide to get talky if he comes across her sister first. The guy had even less of a filter than August. Desperate times. Sasha promptly walked over as the mob boss was detailing his terms and conditions and _slammed_ the case shut. Everyone goes more silent than the decorative corpses.

"...What?" August blinked at her, more shocked than angry.

"Ooh, I don't like it." Sasha held up a hand for extra effect, like she was pulling her suspicion from a supernatural force. "I got a...I got a _feeling_."

Just like that, the shock vanished. August's eyes bunched up and she felt the gazes of the two goons land firmly on her. Already going great.

"What are you possibly _feeling_ right now?" The man demanded. "We're almost done!"

"I get intuitions about this stuff!" She retorted, gathering up the instinctive defensiveness at his tone to spur her forward.

She'd go on a lengthy rant about Tassle, and working as his second-in-command for Chunhua, and the _dozens_ of other things she'd backed him up on over the months, but her little performance had a time limit and the man's temper was already on a very short fuse. Sasha knew a situation was tenuous when even her best plan couldn't be used. The Hyperion bootlicker leaned forward and attempted to placate them. August responded with something about how she does this all the time ( _wow_ ). Sasha figured now is the perfect time to vault on the mood and do something drastic.

Without warning she snatched the case, yanked it off the table and started backing away toward the giant rotating fan against the wall.

"Sasha, what the hell are you-" August bolted up from his chair, eyes round with shock.

“I just…I don’t like it.” Sasha started, hoping with all her might this bullshit train wouldn't derail before Fiona could get inside. “They’ve had these... _dumb_ looks on their _dumb_ faces since the moment they walked in!”

“ _Sasha!_ ” August started. God, summer boy was so canny. She can tell he knew something was up, but just couldn't put his finger on it.

“They’ve been all…oh, yes sir, and oh, no, sir, and I’ve got the money right here!”

A brief pause. Four-Eyes blinks at her.

“Uh, none of what you’re saying is bad!”

“ _Nobody does that!_ " She snapped, and this berserk button was _definitely_ more genuine. "Especially not Hyperion ore monkeys, who’d rather bomb a small village than talk things through.” She inched back another few steps until she could feel the weak breeze from the fan wafting against her legs. "I mean, _look_ at that guy. Look at his _face._ "

"What's wrong with his _face?_ " August all but squawked, downright stunned now.

"You can't _trust_ a face like that!"

Everyone shuffled nervously, looking at each other and waiting for something to give. It ends up being Mr. ECHO-Eye. It’s certainly not a bad speech he gives her about the key being used as a wild card to screw some sorry asshole's deck, but that’s not what changes her mind. No, Fiona _finally_ gets her ass in gear and gives her an update. She was inside and the EMP was attached. Still...she had to wrap up this act properly.

"So..." She looked between them like they were a particularly mean scuff on her favorite Maliwan SMG. "...you're saying this Key will be used to screw over some wretched Hyperion stooge?"

"That's _exactly_ what we're saying." Four-Eyes stressed. Sasha put on her sunniest smile.

"...All right. I'm sold."

She walked up and promptly handed the mob boss the briefcase. He took it, but something's cracked his previous confidence, and she could already feel another roadblock before he opened his mouth.

"I mean, I don't know." August looked around, mouth twisting with uncertainty. "If you really think..."

“It's all right. The feeling's gone, August." Sasha grinned at him. She can't believe she just pulled that off. "Let's do the deal.”

“...I don't know. Maybe today’s not right for this.” Her gut tightened like she'd just downed a round of Fireballs. No. No, no, _no_ , out of _all_ the times for August to double down on his paranoia! “I mean, if things are _weird_...if you got a feeling about things…”

Sasha wanted to shake him _and_ kiss him. The man was completely, one hundred percent willing to postpone a deal for ten million dollars on her word _alone_ and...well, it makes her heart feel exactly like an overripe drakefruit. Her life deciding then and there to flash before her eyes almost felt inappropriate, but considering that everything was balancing on a tightrope, it actually made perfect sense.

What was worse? The deal being put off and being stuck on Pandora longer than she had to…or going back to her not-life with a man she had almost planned out a not-future alongside? No...no, she _can't_ put it off now. She couldn’t _handle_ another night curled up in his cramped apartment with a shared weed cloud above their head. Another day scrubbing counters to grunge rock while they teased each other in-between dirty shot glasses. If she does she might not be able to go through with this.

"See? There's no problem-" Rhys started, but August cut him off.

"No, I'm...I'm sorry, guys. I was...I thought I was going to deal with Vasquez and now _this_..." He glanced at Sasha, brows furrowed hard and doubt all over his face. "...I just think we should call it off until I think things are square."

"Hon, we're here." She stressed, through gritted teeth. Sasha couldn’t believe she was actually hoping one of those corpses would come to life and do a tap-dance routine. "We should just do this. Really."

"Nah." He waved a dismissive hand and started making his way toward the exit. "I've made up my mind."

Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it! Oh, how the hell was she going to explain this to Felix? That she'd acted a little _too_ well? Is that even possible? Hell, it was better than telling him or Fiona that August trusted her _too_ much. The Hyperion thumbsucker, like her very own personal angel, decided then and there to call out right as they were about to leave Oasis behind.

"August...wait."

The mob boss sighed hard, rolling his eyes to the sky like it was somehow the weak cloud cover's fault, then turned around, face pinched with impatience. Sasha crossed her arms and waited to see what the Hyperion schmuck could do that even _she_ couldn't accomplish. Rhys crossed his arms and looked between them, lifting his chin...

"...Come _on_ , man!" The man wailed, dropping the act and dropping to his knees. " _Pleeeeeeeeeeeease!_ "

...Well. Not _quite_ the break she was imagining, but she'd take it.

"Dude." Sasha said, turning August's attention to her. "Ten million dollars."

Four-Eyes pops open the briefcase to punctuate that statement, _finally_ showcasing rows and rows of beautiful, crisp bills. August pursed his lips in thought, then smirked sidelong at her.

"...You make a good point."

The mob boss hefted the case and walked back over to the table where the two Hyperion stooges were practically vibrating with anticipation. Wonderful. Just...wonderful.

"Okay, Fiona. He's about to scan it."

Rhys picked up the stone and turned on his eye. August leaned on his heels and crossed his arms. Sasha felt herself sway with relief, like _she_ was coming down with heatstroke. Finally. They were almost done. They were almost _out of here_. Nearly five months of lying, white-lying, omitting, acting and telling the _truth_ was going to culminate in never seeing this miserable dirt pile ever, ever again. It'll be worth it. Even if she has to spend every night looking at the stars from her new home wondering what her summer boy was up to, about the _other_ life she left behind...it would be _worth it_.

It had to be.

Then the key dropped to the ground, broke into a dozen pieces, and everything went, characteristically, to shit.

\--

"What the _hell?_ "

The Vault Key...was a _bust_. Literally busted on the goddamn ground like it was made out of cheap plaster. Did these shitbags just break a priceless artifact or was it truly as fake as it suddenly looked? Was it all Lidia Strauss' fault? The two Hyperion goons were just as lost as he was, gaping at the mess on the ground. For a moment the entire world seemed to stop as his frazzled mind attempted to put the pieces together. August wouldn't be surprised if the planet _actually_ stopped rotating at this precise moment, just to rub in the monumental fuck-up that landed in his lap.

His mother...his mother was going to rip him to _shreds_.

Then Pandora, deciding his day wasn’t rotten enough, sent the supreme dickhead himself to come rain piss all over their parade.

A low rumble is all the warning they get. A sudden roaring filled the air, followed by a _shredding_ guitar wail that made his ears feel like they're going to pop. Everyone turned just in time to see the right wall burst into a million splinters. A _massive_ man in a monster truck shrieked to a halt in the middle of the room, followed by a dozen (or more) wildland bandits, car bass pounding through the weak walls and making the floorpanes rattle. August growled low in his throat, resisting the urge to cover his ears. It couldn't be anyone other than Bossanova, the loudest shitbag an already pretty competitive industry.

A lean figure leapt into the proceedings, a glowing sword in one hand. Judging by the bandits' less-than-surprised reactions (and challenging hoots), they've met before.

" _Now, Bossanova_." Their smooth, robotic voice somehow cut right through the chaos. " _You know what I'm searching for. Tell me where it is_."

Was now _really_ the time for a haiku? Bandits spread out through the cramped half-room, cackling amongst themselves at the prospect of an easy haul and a few kills. August crouched as low as he could by the flipped table, body tense as a wire as he watched the scene unfold. The Vault Hunter (he thinks it might be Zer0, there was no one else it _could_ be) is soaking up all their attention, for now. Good. He and Sasha needed to grab that case and get the hell out of here. They could sort out _what the hell_ later.

"I got no idea what you're talking about, _Vault Hunter_." Bossanova shot back, the bass on his truck and chest thumping so heavily August felt like he had three heartbeats. The two desk jockeys were still cowering across the room, eyes wide as satellites, and he would almost sneer at how sheltered they were if they didn't give him something much, _much_ worse.

"Rhys, the money!" The little turd squawked. " _Get the money!_ "

That _idiot_! Why doesn't he just spill all of Hyperion's secret passwords while he's at it, too? The bandit king's bass isn't _too_ loud, apparently, because the man reached down and snatched the briefcase right as Sasha and the Hyperion desk jockey made a quick lunge for it. They stared helplessly up at the bandit king as he called for his bandits' attention.

"Ooh, looks like our lucky day, boys!" Bossanova crowed, waving their money -- their goddamn _money_ \-- in the air. "Let's ri-"

He cut off abruptly as his truck crashed through one of the _other_ remaining walls. The engine sputtered and popped and faded into the distance, barely audible over the remaining psychos attempting (and failing) to take on Zer0 seven-to-one. Shit. Shit shit _shit_!

Another setback. Fine. This was nothing a little quick thinking couldn't get them out of. He could always dwell on the broken Vault Key once the danger had passed. His mother, though...god, she was going to lose her shit. No...no, there wouldn't be a word on this planet or any other planet for the rage he'd face once he confessed to attempting to conduct a major deal with _her_ connections behind her back, much less failing at _both_. The mere thought of Vallory's reaction and August briefly entertained the urge to haul ass after Bossanova's dust cloud hollering at the top of his lungs.

At least he wouldn't have to face it alone. He and Sasha have weathered so much shit together. This was just another bump in their road. She was going to be so disappointed, when she wanted so _badly_ to get off Pandora, but it was okay. He'd figure it out. They'd get _through this_.

August turned to where Sasha was crouching...and felt his spine turn to ice when she gave him the last look he was expecting to see.

" _Sorry._ " She whispered, standing and bolting toward the exit at top speed.

...She was _in on it_.

“ _You!_ ”

August pulled out his pistol, cocked it and aimed. First things first. Get rid of the collateral. The remaining bandits hit the ground in splatters of red one-by-one. Suckers should've worn some armor.

“You planned this whole _thing!_ ” He yelled at Sasha's retreating form over the screaming and pops of gunfire. “That’s honestly _really_ impressive!”

He wasn't lying. It _was_ impressive. It was also _wholly uncalled for_. Was it something he did? Did he royally piss her off without meaning to and started her on some path of darkness that involved screwing him over in every meaning of the word? He had no more time to muse on it, because the giant wall fan suddenly popped off the wall and fell right on top of him. It was a good damn thing it was cheap, too, or it might've just killed him then and there.

' _This day can't get any worse. Shit, now it will, because I fucking thought **that**._ ' He thought frantically, wheezing at the bruise spreading over his back in real time. His aim has taken a hit too, apparently, because instead of clipping a bandit he clips the old man Sasha ran up to. Whoever the hell he was and _wherever_  the hell he came from.

" _Felix!_ "

"I'm fine, I'm fine, let's _go-_ "

No. No, they fucking _weren't_. Head and back throbbing horribly August forced himself back onto his feet and kept firing. Zer0 was gone. Most of the other bandits were either bleeding out on the floor or long gone to whatever hole Bossanova crawled out of. Lidia was well on her way out, though not before she jumped on the body of a psycho, twisted in place and raised her gun to fire at him. He was ready. He was always ready to take a bullet, or twenty, to defend what was _his_. The moment held in the air, slowed down by the adrenaline pumping through his veins...then, for some reason, she holds her fire.

Instead of sending a shot through his skull the woman hit the ground...then turned tail and fled. He'd count his lucky stars her gun crapped out on her or whatever _later_.

' _Okay. Okay! Everything went wrong today. Literally everything. I should check to see if the sun's even still in orbit. That's fine. That's more than fine, I can handle it. I always handle it_.' August's train of thought was careening at top speed. He wasn't hysterical, though. He _wasn't_. ' _My entire life is a balancing act. Bandits? Nothing. Betrayal? Nothing. This is a good thing, actually. I can just take the piss out of those Hyperion cheerleaders_.'

Shade waved after him as he started a hot pursuit to where Lidia Strauss disappeared to.

"Leaving already?"

"Oh, shut the hell _up_." He snapped over his shoulder. "And for _fuck's_ sake, fix your bathroom."

He stumbled outside, panting furiously. An engine started somewhere to his right. It's not Bossanova, because that jackass was long gone, and Zer0 didn't come in on any vehicle that he could see. Wherever he or the Vault Hunter or those dozens of bandits went to didn't matter, anyway. No, he only had his sights set on one fucking person.

' _Sasha wouldn't betray me. She's always backed me up. There are so many times she could've put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. At my apartment, at the bar. Hell, she could've sold me out to Tassle_.' He hastily reloaded his pistol and aimed at the beat-up caravan he doesn't recognize. ' _Granted, I smashed that dick's head open before she could try anything, but, still. She said she wasn't going to. She **proved** herself. She helped me with my bar, kept my guns cleaned, fought by my side. Saved my neck, even. She wouldn't. She **wouldn't**_.'

August peered through the caravan's open door, spotting the shadows of the jackasses that pulled the rug out from under him, and any benefit of the doubt dried up like Oasis's ill-fated springs.

" _Hey!_ " He snarled, bullets ricocheting off the van's patchwork hide. "We're not done here!"

His only response was a particularly loud squawk of distress. The Hyperion goons were in on it, too?! Before the door could close he lunged forward and grabbed it with one hand. Someone was trying to shut it. Was it Sasha? No. It was Lidia Strauss. At least, her fake alias, though he's pleased to find the horror that spreads on her face between his hand and the remaining gap in the door is anything _but_ fake.

“You shouldn’t lie to me, Sasha!” It's a joke. Just the world's unfunniest practical joke and he was going to call her out on it _hardcore_. "You should never, _ever_ lie to me, Sasha-"

The door slammed shut. He banged a fist on it, _roaring_ for them to get their asses outside, then had no choice but to stumble backwards when the caravan jerked to the side and revved off in a cloud of exhaust. August desperately fired at its retreating back, aiming for the wheels to send it skidding, _something_ , but the damn thing was built like a beetle, too low to the ground, and his Jakobs was for close encounters only. He fired another three rounds, out of pure fucking _rage_ , and resisted the urge to fling the gun into the dirt when it careened off into the distance.

"Son of a fucking-" He ran a filthy hand through his hair, panting and shaking and suddenly, _very_ , alone. "No, no, no, no, _no_ -"

He stood in place for a few seconds, letting the shock wash over him...then turned and stormed back inside. Oasis is already starting to buzz with flies. Shade bounced around like a kid in a marketplace, prodding each and every corpse in turn to see if they were still alive (including the ones torn clean in half). Stepping over a pair of legs August stepped beneath the shade, the short walk in the sun already stinging his skin, and pulled out his headpiece, trying not to pay attention to the way Shade kept muttering to himself about 'supplies for the winter event'. Brandy picked up on the second ring.

" _Yeah, boss?_ "

“Round up some drivers and gunners. Whoever can be spared on short notice. _Don't-_ ” He stressed. "-tell Vallory."

“ _Why, what happen-_ “

“I didn’t _say_ lend me a goddamn ear and give me your two cents." August snarled, grinding his teeth so hard it hurt. "I said get a crew together, _now_.”

" _Right, right, you got it! We'll be ready. Scov, get yer ass in gear-_ "

August disconnected and stalked out of the wrecked room, making a hard turn around Oasis's filthy walls and over to his truck, thankfully in one piece after the shitshow that literally crashed into his day. He may be so fucking pissed he could start breathing _fire_ , but he still wasn't a moron. He took an extra few moments to inspect the tires and double-check the engine for any damage or signs of tampering. When nothing seemed out of order he reached over to grab the handle...then leaned against the truck's side-door, entire body shaking like it's being pulled by some despicable gravity.

Where did it all go wrong?

‘... _Sasha_.' He pushed back the sweat clinging to his face and looked over his shoulder at the empty sands. As bleached as a bone. Not even the dust cloud was left. ' _If that's even your real name_.’

The hurt would come. The hurt would _always_ come. It’s cresting over the horizon, like a clan of raiders and ten times more deadly. August slammed the door behind him, twisted the key in the ignition and swerved out of Oasis's miserable pocket of shade.

He’d deal with it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I actually forgot I wrote half of this chapter many, _many_ months back, with a similar _filename_ , to boot. Cue me cross-referencing the older half-finished chapter with the newer half-finished chapter I started a few months ago. A patchwork collage of fun times to post a little over a year and a half later. 
> 
> Ooh, I missed these two.


	18. Cordial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August finds himself uncharacteristically nervous about today's meeting. Then again, it's not every day he's given the opportunity to haggle ten million dollars.

Side-piercing...or septum?

August held them up in turn in the weak light, scowling at this sudden, tiny, _frustrating_ hang-up. It wasn't a question he asked himself often -- he'd just grab something and go with it, that was usually enough -- but today wasn't a usual day. It was special. _Actually_ special, not that faux-special nonsense he had to spout off when going on yet another run through the outlands to search for loot or intimidate minor gangs into respecting them. That meant a special look...or, at least, more than one piercing.

"Where's she live again?" He called into the hallway, holding up the septum again, _hopefully_ for the last time. Sasha's voice carried back instantly.

"I _told_ you, August. Somewhere outside the Rust Commons West. She's a traveler."

"And she's _not_ a Vault Hunter, right?"

"Come _on_ , summer boy. If she were I'd tell you."

"Hey, I'm just double-checking. How'd she find a Vault Key, anyway? How'd she even get away with it without anyone noticing? They're not like actual _keys_. Can't just shove a giant piece of advanced alien tech into your pants pocket for later."

"For the last time...ask her when she gets here." Footsteps creak down the hall. "She's an old friend, hon. Trust me when I say she's the real deal."

August glanced sidelong at the doorway, now filled with a knowing smile and crossed arms. Her locs weren't tied up in a knot on the top of her head or tail at the nape of her neck today, held back instead by her colorful headwrap. It was one of her more adventerous looks. He wondered if she was getting swept up in all the excitement. He certainly was. So much so he couldn't figure out which piece of jewelry to stick into his fucking _face_.

"...Uh-oh. You're giving me that look again." Sasha leaned against the doorjamb and pursed her lips. "Don't trust me?"

August finally came to a decision. He clicked the nostril piercing in place, added another to his ear, ran one last hand through his hair...then snaked a hand around her waist without warning and tugged her inside.

"Oof, hey-" She started, cut off a second later. "... _Mmph_."

August held the kiss, relaxing his arms around her and breathing in all the little Sasha things before it was time to put on his usual front for the Skag. The sweat after a cleaning session, the tang of her new favorite drakefruit vodka mix she'd been sipping on-and-off, a metallic note after she was through cleaning her guns (which never quite left). He leaned her against the doorframe, cupping the small of her back to keep her comfortable, and slid a tongue in her mouth as she slackened against him, licking away at those unmistakeable details until they both needed to come up for air.

He loved a lot of things about her. Right now what he adored most was the way her green eyes glittered after a make-out session. He'd make a romantic comparison, but there weren't a lot of green things on Pandora, and, if anything, that made him feel all the _more_ fond. Sasha was an anomaly, through and through.

"...Hey." She eventually said, when he made no effort to break the pleasant silence, panting just a little.

August grinned down at her.

"Hey."

For the longest time kissing had been one of his least favorite parts of a hook-up, because those hook-ups were never meant to get all intimate like this _and_ last, but this was...well. It was _special_. Word of the day. He leaned in for another, because her lips were shining in such a way he couldn't _resist_ , and-

"Hey, hey, _hey-_ " She squirmed and he missed his mark, getting her cheek instead. "Hold up, summer boy. She's gonna be here soon."

"Soon." He agreed, nibbling at her earlobe, careful not to catch his teeth on her beloved fang earrings. "As in, not right now."

"Come _on_ , she's an old friend. I want to set a good look and I still haven't swept under the tables." Sasha gave him a critical look. "Weren't you just having a paranoia attack five seconds ago?"

"When aren't I? ...Wait. I thought you said you've only known her a few _months_." He frowned, pulling back and returning her stare with one of his own. Sasha didn't miss a beat.

"This is _Pandora_. A friendship that lasts for more than a few months counts as old."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He surrendered with a sigh. "Whatever you say."

Sasha gave him a quick peck on the cheek, her way of apologizing, and hurried back down the stairs. She didn't say anything about his piercings, so either his look was a little basic _or_ they were just right for Lidia. August gave his reflection one last scrutinizing stare, then flicked off the light. There was always something to be done and today was already chalking up to be one of the busiest he's had in months.

The lights beyond the bar are starting to flick on, even though evening wouldn't hit for another few hours. Hollow Point was dutiful, if nothing else. Sasha is running a dry mop over the floorboards in a practiced zig-zag. August squats in front of the register and double-checks the change. The tables and chairs were already out and neatly placed, burn bin emptied and ready to be fed lost shoes and bloodstained t-shirts sometime at midnight. August took a moment to appreciate the spotless corners before looking back down at the bills and coins (and spare switchblade). Everything in order. If he were superstitious, he'd consider it a good sign.

He pulled out a few more bills for the til, licked his thumb and started to count. Just like that, one of the purple light strings dangling above him fizzled out with a _pop_. ...If he were superstitious, he'd take _that_ as a ' _fuck you_ '. August snorted irritably, shut the register and reached under the counter for his box of spares. After rummaging around for a few fruitless seconds he leaned away from the counter.

"Sash, we got a new order of lightbulbs the other day, right?"

"It's in the back. I'll get it." She zipped past him and into the back room.

"Uh, it's fine, I can..." He started, interrupted by a sound _slam_. "...Okay, whatever."

August scowled. Sasha hasn't been acting right all day. He didn't want to push her too much, but it was just so weird seeing her get worked up like this. Was it the fact he was finally meeting one of her friends or was it the ten million dollar deal just around the corner? ...Okay, it was probably the latter. But _still_. He blew out a sigh and tucked his stool away. He should've known something was up. She wasn't the kind of girl to succumb to nerves easily, but Sasha had her ways of letting him know something was off. August hastily applied the passcode change to the register and made his way into the backroom.

Both lights were on, revealing the cramped box stacks that made up the Skag's storage room (and flickering just a little, probably needing to be replaced soon, too). Just to make his suspicion worse the woman was standing over the musty nap sofa shoved against the back wall and staring into a small box intently, like one of those Rubik's cubes he's heard so much about. One _hell_ of a puzzling look on her face. August didn't care much for special talks...but they had their time and place. This was one of them.

"...Sash?" He started, noting the rigid line in her spine and feeling himself grow just as tense. "Sash, if you need to talk we still have a few before we open-"

Another _slam_ interrupted him, this time her slamming the cover of the box shut and setting it on the floor (albeit more delicately).

"Woah, Sash, careful with that-" August protested, already smelling the cracked bulbs in his future. Sasha didn't seem to care, pushing past him and promptly kicking the backroom door shut. August stared at her, mouth half-open in confusion, and snapped it shut when she whirled around and pushed him back toward the couch with one hand. "...Okay, _okay_ , explain whatever this is because I'm confused-"

The back of his legs hit the couch. He had to wobble a little to keep from falling over.

"I mean, are you _mad_ , are you-" He hedged, trying to find something to latch onto with this 180. Sasha doesn't say a word, grabbing his belt buckle and tugging it apart. "Hey, you don't have to make up for the other day-" He tried, even as his breath was kicking up into a flutter from her hands digging into his waistline. "I meant it, I'm not going to make you feel bad for not being in the mood-"

"August..." Sasha sighed, giving him one more push and making him slump back into the sofa cushion. "...would you _please_ shut up."

He does. Not that he made a _habit_ of shutting up when told to (aside from his mother when she got in one of her _moods_ , anyway), but whatever Sasha needed, getting it on was apparently the only way to do it. He reached beneath her legs to get her off, especially since she needed a little extra work to catch up to him-

"Mm-mm." Sasha pushed his hand to the side, then cocked an eyebrow at his expression. "...Just let me take care of the rest, hon."

"You already do." He muttered, not even bothering to hide the forlorn bent to his voice.

Was it guilt over their little vacation day? Was it something that happened at _home?_ August took in the softness in her eyes, the affection he'd come to recognize even past all the tension, and accepted the truth as just another treasure he'd unearth with time. He hooked her chin close and kissed her again, matching that softness with a little of his own, and she doesn't hurry through this one. Back before he met her he would work up a good fantasy in his head or flip through an old magazine if he were drunk, but kissing Sasha...that was all he needed. He already knew he wasn't going to last long in here.

Not when he gets what feels like the first full smile from her in an eternity and it's enough to make him _finally_ settle properly into the sofa's back, closing his eyes as she tugs his jeans down a little more and moves her head down between his thighs.

They end up opening five minutes late. Go figure.

Lidia wasn't here yet, but there were already impatient regulars lingering by the door and the front counter. Nothing he and Sash couldn't handle (though he was feeling distinctly lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with work adrenaline). August briefly adjusted one of Sasha's locs (earning a wink) before letting her greet the flow of one-stops and squatters. One face, in particular, stood out like a goddamn splinter in his toe. Striped beanie, five o' clock shadow and a simpering smile a mile wide. _Tommy_.

Tommy. Fucking Tommy. The little bastard was back _again_ to take more generous cupfuls from his well of generosity. Well, the goddamn thing was more dried up than that sorry excuse for a tourist destination that served as today's secret meeting location. August knew he was pissed when he was putting extra emphasis into his metaphors. A warm smile broke on his face and he put every last ounce of fake-special into his voice to carry over the hubbub. Thanks to Sasha, he actually _had_ a little cheer on standby.

"Tommy, _hey_." He spread his arms out. "Get over here, you rascal!"

The man edged his way through the crowd, much to everyone's visible irritation, and wrung his hands together.

"Hey, August. Sorry I didn't show up the other day..."

He lead him upstairs, giving Sasha a quick look to take the floor. Second verse, same as the first. The guy still couldn't give him the money he owed. Granted, he already _knew_ that. After August had been tipped off _who_ , exactly, spread the word to Nucleus he was Vallory's son and thus attempted to get rid of him the old-fashioned way...they were a little beyond casual conversation. It doesn't stop the mob boss from putting on an understanding affect as the man bumbles through his usual line of excuses, sob stories and the occasional flat joke.

The front door pinged below. A few voices carried up through the floorboards, none of them fitting her description (as far as he could tell, anyway). Sasha said Lidia was usually on time, _but_ she had another obligation today that could see her a few minutes late. Lucky him.

"I won't be, ah, able to get you anything for another week...just a week, though..." Tommy finished, as he always did.

"Ah. That whole thing with Nucleus was a no-pay situation?" August let a fifth of the wrathful bitterness edge into his voice, though his smile never left. "Wish _she'd_ told me that."

His skin suddenly taking on the appearance of rotten skrakk meat told him _all_ he needed to know. August could read two-bit scavengers more easily than his own name. He would know. He used to be one.

"No, no, no, you've got it all wrong, August! She made me do it. Told me if I didn't she'd hang me up by my feet and grill me alive." Tommy clutched at his vest. August did his absolute best not to scrunch up his nose. The guy _still_ smelled like feet.

"Is that so?"

"That's the long and short of it, August." He wasn't _denying_ his involvement, at least, but even Tommy had a self-preservation instinct. "I'm tellin' ya!"

Of course. Well. He's kept Lidia waiting long enough. Without further ado August flung an arm around the man's shoulders and led him downstairs.

"Tommy, how long have we known each other?" He started, as amicable as a sleeping skag. Tommy looked a touch relieved.

"I've known your family a real long time, August."

"That's why this is _all_ gonna work out." August gave him a _very_ special smile. "...You say hi to the missus for me, okay?"

"Sure thing, August." Tommy tittered. " _Buddy_."

"Tector." The mob boss put his hands on his hips and cocked a knowing smile. "Make sure Tommy gets home all right."

Tector began to walk back out the door...then glanced over his shoulder for confirmation. At August's nod he pulled out his pistol and followed Tommy out with a grin. And that was that.

In a flash August was excited again. Not only was this jackass _finally_ out of the picture, he was also going to finally level up his relationship with Sasha. She'd always been so tight-lipped about her personal life. He knew superficial details, of course. He knew that she had a small family and had to work a dozen jobs just to make ends meet. Beyond the fact she had a sister (that he still hasn't been able to meet) and once had her own radio station (which he would love to know more about sometime), a lot of her history was still shrouded in mystery. He'd made it a personal thing to not pry until she felt ready. Today was new ground for him and her.

 _Exciting_.

Most of the one-stops made their exits, bottles and cans in tow, leaving the place with just two regulars at their usual spots. Sasha was wiping down the front counter, brow pinched with concentration over some stubborn smudge and unaware of a sharp-suited customer standing in front of her, and his heart, then and there, felt a little funny. He wanted nothing more than to take her by the hand and tug her back upstairs, business be damned.

He wondered if they'd actually get to the L word soon.

' _Not busting out drapes or a ring or anything._ ' He thought as he walked behind the counter and gave Sasha a kiss on the corner of her mouth. ' _But, damn, I'm crazy about you._ '

"...I don't believe this." Lidia scoffed under her breath. August had no idea what she was referring to, but he decided to give the woman the benefit of the doubt and assume she was just a prude about public displays of affection. Sasha _was_ weird enough to attract the type.

"Hey, August, this is-" Sasha started. August, still admiring the way the light dusted her skin, took that as his cue.

"Oh, hey. Sasha says you got something really cool to show me." He put on an easy smile to hopefully cover up the sudden, deafening _crash_ that popped up just outside the front door steps. "...Lidia, right? Strauss? Sasha's told me a lot about you." He glanced out the front window, for good measure, then turned his attention back. "She assures me you can be trusted."

"That's me, Lidia Strauss." She responded, folding her arms in front of her and giving him a charming smile in return. Good.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long."

The easy mood is cracked when who else should come stumbling right back into his bar but _fucking Tommy_ , who barely made it in three feet inside before he was shot square in the back by Tector. August held back a weary groan. The man had _one_ goddamn job! Without preamble the mob boss rounded the bar and walked over to where the little shit was blubbering into the floor. He may have shown Raine and Yelena a shred of mercy, because they probably dead _anyway_ , but sometimes the only way to get closure was with a good old-fashioned bullet between the eyes. This decision was a long time coming.

"Please, August...I'll pay...I'll _pay_ , I'll pay, I'll pay..." August's face was impassive, completely chilled to this familiar display of remorse. He's had his fill of excuses. He wasn't like his mother -- he at least _offered_ second chances -- and Tommy's accumulated more than one kind of debt with him. After Nucleus he was all too happy to end his sniveling, double-crossing and rug-pulling permanently. The mob boss pulled out his faithful Jakobs and cocked it. One of the few things he could actually trust.

"...You are." August said, simply, and pulled the trigger.

The radio sputtered on. One of the regulars kept snoozing on the far right table and the other hardly did more than glance over their shoulder. Tector rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Bastard had a Maliwan shield on. Shocked me _real_ good. Sorry 'bout the mess, boss. It won't happen again." He grabbed Tommy by the foot and started dragging his corpse toward the door, right as another customer made their way inside. An older man he might've seen once or twice, but didn't have any time for right now.

August took one last look at the blood soaking into his floorboards, then walked back over to where Sasha's friend was waiting. Her eyes darted to the dead body, then back to him, apprehensive.

"...Well. That was exciting." He offered, thumbing off a spot of blood that somehow made its way onto Lidia's cheek. She didn't look particularly thrilled about any of this. He _could_ offer her a quick explanation to take the sting out, but just because she was Sasha's friend didn't mean she was his. This would work as an example on what happened when people fucked with him. "Hon, get us some drinks, then mop up that blood. I don't want to have to get the floors redone."

"Sure thing, babe." Sasha responded, as sweet as cider, and started rifling through the bottom cupboards. August waved Lidia over, that little scene putting a familiar steel into his shoulders and reminding him of what's important.

"...Let's get to business."

So far, so tenuous. August had fussed about this for a full week, so while he was milking it for all it was worth, he still wasn't exactly _thrilled_ about starting off the meeting by blowing a hole in someone's head...if only because it became just a _little_ bit harder to look the part of the chill boyfriend when he had blood on his jeans. Well. Lidia was a close friend. Sasha's damn near fetish for guns should have tipped her off already about the sort of company she kept. Still. He said he would _try_. Anything for his girl.

"Sasha, make me a double...whatever it is." Lidia asked over her shoulder.

"Hope the gunplay didn't set your nerves off." He chuckled. To his surprise, Lidia just smirked.

"Nope. I just like to drink."

August smiled. He liked her better already.

They sit at the far right table. It's been a while. Well, sort of. If he was getting technical the last time he did an interview like this, at the same table and everything, was...with Sasha. The memory almost puts a dopey smile on his face. It hadn't been the best day -- he'd run out of a popular beer brand during a busy time, putting him in the fun position of convincing a bunch of new _and_ old faces to step out of their comfort zone -- and he'd been tired after a particularly frustrating customer, to boot. Seeing a cute girl stroll to his front counter days earlier had been a pleasant surprise...then _doubly_ so when she asked if he was hiring.

He hadn't expected anything out of it, of course. He was all business. No fuss, no pomp, no circumstance. ...But it'd turned out _great_. Better than great. A simple part-time job transformed into a journey he never thought he'd take in all his miserable days on Pandora's sandy face.

Sasha was one of the best flukes he'd ever been dealt, but she was still just a fluke. Despite that fortuitous turn of events, his caution was just as strong as ever. Doing deals with people he didn't know was just a waste of time, interviews even more so. People were _liars_. That was just the long and short of it and nothing a stupid twenty-minute session would fix. August had to dust off his interview skills a little as he faced Lidia properly, assessing every last twitch and blink the sharp-dressed woman sent his way. She was...confident. Casual. A bit on the polite side, which he wouldn't mind if it didn't seem so _forced_ , somehow. When he'd been in the business for years, a single red flag was all he needed to start doubling down.

"So...how long have you been an archeologist?" He leaned forward, interest not quite feigned. It was a neat as hell position. "Fascinating work. Getting out in the dirt...recovering priceless artifacts."

"Long enough...to find a Vault Key." Lidia offered, arms folded in front of her and as basic as a handful of sand.

August slowly narrowed his eyes and drank her in. ...Yeah. She was _definitely_ holding something back. Still. He took his time with Sasha. He could do it with a friend of hers. ...A little, anyway. They had ten million dollars on the line, after all, and the sting of Tommy's constant string of betrayals was still a nail in his asscheek.

"Well..." He chuckled, generously, and gave her a smile bordering on easygoing. "...that seems like the _perfect_ amount of time."

Too perfect. He wasn't foolish. Something as precious -- and unmistakeable -- as a Vault Key was a one-in-a-million find. He loved the idea of Sasha getting lucky enough to rub shoulders with a winner, when she was such a rare find herself, but he'd seen too much shit in his life to place bets on optimism and think he'd still come out with a haul. He proceeded to ask another question, a quick double-check to make sure the story added up. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sasha. _Far_ from it. He was just being careful.

"That's funny...hey, where'd you say you found this again?" He kept his voice level. Eye contact more so. "Just refresh my memory. Sasha said you found it at one of the Edens."

"I found it at Eden-6." Lidia answered, immediately, and a pocket of tension left his shoulders. "At one of the dig sites there."

"Right, Eden-6." His smile was much more genuine this time. He'd been drilling Sasha on little details for hours and that name had come up twice. "Marcus is always talking about that place, says it's real nice."

"It is when you find a Vault Key." She offered with a laugh. August returned it.

"It most certainly is." He wasn't going to drag this out longer than necessary, but another question couldn't hurt. "Where are you from, anyway? Sasha said you're a traveler." He cocked a brow. "I don't get out as much as I'd like and, I gotta say, I'm a little jealous."

"Well, I mostly travel for work. All over the place, really. Rust Commons East, Rust Commons West...been off Pandora a few times, though not as often as _I'd_ like." She gets a knowing look in her eyes and, aside from his fact-checking coming up positive again, he's unsurprised. With any luck, he and Sasha would be running into even more travelers in less than a week. As if summoned Sasha walked over, setting down their drinks in the corner of his eye. He gave her a quick smile.

"Thanks, hon."

So far, so good. He might just get the hang of this interview thing after all.

Then Lidia went and grabbed his hand.

The Vault Key was _dazzling_. Wasn't the kind of word he usually used, but what other way to put a piece of prime alien tech shining like a goddamn comet on his very own bar table? It was hard not to feel like a kid, staring into the purple glow, and his hand had moved like it was on a string. Even if the deal didn't go off, this would net him some _serious_ bragging rights for weeks. Then, quick as a whip, he was held firm in Lidia's hand and unable to budge. Their eyes met. The woman looked a little surprised...and for _damn_ good reason.

"...You're grabbing my _hand_." August began, as calmly as he could with every instinct in his body demanding he put her in a headlock. Lidia blinked at it, like she just realized it was in her grip, then looked back at him. ...Sasha's friend. She was Sasha's close _friend_. He _wasn't_ going to do what he usually did to people who touched him without permission and send her flying across the bar, even though he really, really, really wanted to. "...Why are you doing that?"

"It's not yours yet, August." Lidia stated with a frown, polite demeanor gone and still not letting go.

August has been a brawler for _years_. Every fight he walked out of alive added another life lesson in his personal handbook for future reference, even if it were something as simple as ' _don't stop fucking breathing_ '. A major one, one he was keen on never forgetting, was that size wasn't everything. Even taking that into account? He was willing to bet Lidia would flip just the same if he decided to dip into his cage-fighting days. August rolled his shoulders experimentally and counted down the seconds until he truly, _truly_ lost it.

"...Your friend here is making me nervous." He said, for Sasha's benefit. She walked back over not a moment too soon.

"She's helping you out, August." ... _Helping?_ By making a complete mockery out of his personal boundaries? Lidia finally let him go and he leaned back in his chair, trying his absolute damndest not to turn his frustration on _her_ , even though she should've warned him Lidia was the grabby type.

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

"You never heard of eridium poisoning?"

August paused. ...Eridium _what?_

"...Can't...say I have."

"Well." Sasha bobbed her shoulders. "She just saved you a few hours of puking your guts out."

Oh. ...Damn it. No _wonder_ Lidia looked so freaked out. She could've accidentally killed him. That's what he got for letting impulse get the better of him. Come to think of it, the briefcase _was_ pretty secure, and she probably handled these sorts of finds with gloves or something. Alien tech. _Alien tech_. August gave himself a quick mental kick before dropping his scowl.

"Ah. Well, thanks for that. Just say something sooner next time." Lidia gave him another one of her smiles and he came to the final conclusion this woman was...all right. Sasha really was a magnet for the best. One last look at the Vault Key and... "All right. I'm sold. I'll call Vasquez. He's been chomping at the bit for this thing."

Now came the fun part: talking business with the six-figure dickhead who treated him, at _best_ , like a skag with three legs or a smudge on his shiny shoes. August dialed up his office number and put on his very best bandit affect, making sure to sound like he was just a little desperate and just a _little_ stupid, like he did from the first time that puffed-up jackass showed up on his mother's doorstep with a proposition. Vallory had asked him what the hell his problem was once he left and it had been one of the _very_ few times August actually won an argument with her.

"Vasquez?" He began, starting up a good pace and hunching his shoulders to settle into his persona more properly. "It's me, August."

" _Oh, August. Uh...cool, listen, I actually have somebody here with me, so-_ "

"You buying this thing or what, 'cause I-" He was already prepared to deliver some truly whiny browbeating...only to pause. "...Wait, do you have me on speaker? Seriously?" _God_ , this guy was rude. No, damn it, he had to keep character.

" _How did this happen so quick?_ " A _click_ and Vasquez's voice came into focus, losing that annoying echo. " _I thought I'd have more time?_ "

"Plans change, man. You still interested? You better be near a computer."

" _Of **course** I'm still interested...and, yes, I'm near a computer_."

"Then you remember what we agreed upon, yeah?"

" _Ten million, yeah. It's just...that's a lot of money to get together on short notice. I mean, I'm not trying to be obstinate, but I need time_."

August was sure to put some extra stress in his voice, like a big vocabulary word really was too much for such a lowly bandit. It wasn't just a show for Vasquez. It was also a show for Lidia.

"Look, I don't even know what obstinate _means_ , man. What I _do_ know is that I gotta move this thing right now."

" _Yeah, yeah, all right. Just give me a minute._ "

August clicked off the receiver and turned to Lidia with a smirk.

"...I know what obstinate means. Hyperion guys get too uncomfortable if you sound too confident. They expect a nervous, small-time Pandoran thug, so I give them what they want." She nodded simply, clearly something she was familiar with herself, and he turned the receiver on again when Vasquez tried to squeeze another day out of him. "Nah, man, this thing is hot. I got offers, so if you want it, you gotta get down here."

" _All right. I'm going to need another hour or two_."

"That ain't good enough, buddy boy." Fuck that. He -- and _Sasha_ \-- have been waiting years for a find like this. "I'm _trying_ to do you a solid."

"Can we squeeze more money out of them?" Lidia hissed, unexpectedly. "It _is_ a Vault Key."

"I tried already." August admitted around the receiver. "Ten million is the most they can bring in cash. I'm not much for a paper trail."

"Can't blame a girl for trying." She conceded with a shrug. He definitely liked her. He made a mental note to tell Sasha she had good taste before clicking the line on again.

"Let me make this crystal clear. We want ten _million_ dollars."

" _Ten million, all right, all right. You Pandorans sure are cranky for extra change._ "

"That's right." He resisted the urge to tell him off with the most colorful language he knew, which was a lot. "We'll be waiting for you."

" _Yeah, yeah. Say hi to your mom_." Vasquez added, by way of departure. August's temper flared.

"Yeah? Well, you say hi to _your-_ " _Click_. "...He hung up."

...Well. The hard part was over. More or less, anyway. They still had a drive and some waiting to look forward to. August prepared for his grotesque meeting location by downing his entire drink in one go. Sasha put an extra shot in. Aw. That was sweet of her. Lidia hadn't touched hers. Probably one last attempt at looking polite. She hadn't exactly aced that part of the first impression, but then again, neither had he. Even he could be self-aware sometimes.

"Sasha will take the Key, since you don't trust me alone with it...and seeing as I just killed a guy in front of you, I'm not even offended." His scowl fell into place as the interview finally came to a close. "Bring your gun, babe."

"Sure thing, hon." Sasha walked over and promptly shut the briefcase, lugging it with ease despite her thin arms.

"That's it?" Lidia asked. August glanced over his shoulder as he pushed the Skag's front door open. Tommy's blood still splattered the steps. Looked like a little extra cleaning for Tector.

"She'll tell you where to go and where to get your money. Let's go."

The night air felt great. Great-ish, anyway. It was Hollow Point night air, still too crappy and smoggy by a half, but the deal was done and they were heading out into the sands. Vasquez was on the way with a tidy ten million dollar payout. Even his mother would have a hard time finding a spot on _this_ deal. He imagined what she'd say once she found out. How Sasha had been a major part of it. Would he actually be able to introduce her as his girlfriend? Not like it would matter, when they both wanted out, but a part of him still felt the need to please, and it made him grind his teeth.

"That went pretty well." August said, eager to leave his roaming thoughts and giving Sasha a little nudge. "I think she liked me."

"Wow. I know you're in a good mood when you're looking on the bright side and everything." Sasha replied, dry as a tire. August met her gaze squarely.

"Then give me your thoughts."

"...I _think_ you could've waited to shoot Tommy before she was out." Sasha responded, a lot more flatly than he expected to hear, considering just how much she knew about the situation. August's shoulders stiffened.

"Yeah, well, the opportunity presented itself." He rolled his eyes. " _Himself_ , anyway."

Sasha wasn't soft-hearted -- nobody really was on Pandora -- but she showed a little more restraint than he did when it came to ending someone's sniveling for good. Then again, she didn't have the same responsibility he did. It wasn't really fair. His footsteps die down to a pair. Sasha had stopped walking. August felt a slow, warm crawl of embarrassment beating down the indignation. He turned around.

"...Ah, shit...look, that was hasty, all right?" He didn't want to fight. Not when everything was so _close_ to falling in place. "I should've held back until later-"

"No, no, it's...not that." She shifted the briefcase from one hand to another. "Well, not entirely."

August stared at her in the light of an old lantern. Her face was drooped down, almost drowning her face in shadow, though the hunch to her shoulders betrayed plenty. She's been off for days. At the concert, earlier today. Now. It's a big thing, this...step forward. He gets it. Well, no. He doesn't. But, soon, he _will_. Looks like he was going to have to try another special talk today. Schmoozing and gently threatening Hyperion goons for more cash than he could ever dream of felt like nothing compared to his next jumble of air.

"I mean it, Sash. What I said the other day. I want to keep trying. I..." He fiddled with his earring as he navigated unfamiliar ground. "...I know I'm not always easy to be around, and that's not really going to change, at least not overnight-" He began to stress, then kicked himself when whatever funny thing was biting her ass seemed to bite down harder. "-and I'm just saying that because of my position, not because I'm giving you a hard time for the hell of it-" Oh, now he was just digging a deeper hole. August cut himself off before he embarrassed himself further and rubbed his temples. "...Look. I want to make this _work_."

"...This?" She asked, one tiny word that somehow felt like an explosion. He crossed the gap, ignoring the humdrum creak and grind of Hollow Point coming alive around them.

"Yeah. This. Everything." He gestured, like he could possibly encompass something as massive as a whole new _life_ with the flick of his hand. "Once we get this Key...we can buy that shiny new life you've always wanted. We can get outta here. There's an entire _galaxy_ waiting for us and we're going to give it a run for its money. You can hold me to that." He forced himself to look her in the eye, even though his body felt like it was going to float up to the cave ceiling like a drunk bat. "...I love you, Sash."

Sasha's head bounced back up, giving him a very clear view of her face now. Her mouth was slack, eyes round as a pair of headlights, and his heart turned into a stone in his chest. ...Ah. Ah, _shit_. Maybe...that was too much too fast. Damn it, he wasn't _good_ at this. Any of this, if he was being honest with himself, and he didn't like to be too vulnerable about his weaknesses even on a good day. But he could trust her. He could _more_ than trust her. Right now that trust extended to her not throwing this confession in his face and just letting it float between them like a dying moth.

"Here, let's, uh...let's get a move on. Don't want Vasquez to one-up us on _punctuality_ , of all things." August offered, to break the silence, and Sasha nodded jerkily, tugging at her goggles as she followed him to his truck.

Make that _two_ strikes for a premature conclusion. ...Well. Three, if he counted the backroom.

They settled into their usual seats, Sasha flicking on the radio and August pulling out of Hollow Point's shadows into the blazing sun. That odd angle to her mouth never quite left, even as they neared Oasis and the start of their new life, but that was fine. At the very least, ten million dollars had a way of perking people up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually _completely_ forgot I wanted to add the interview with Lidia Strauss into the story. I even had to shuffle through my own fic to make sure I hadn't already written this. To be fair, I'm still getting back into the swing of working on this. That's an excuse, right? _Right?_


End file.
